


Morelia

by Ceara_Einin



Series: The Moon World [3]
Category: Chronicles of Narnia (Movies), Chronicles of Narnia - All Media Types, Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bittersweet, Bittersweet Ending, Caspian and Rose teaming up again, Caspian goes to get his son, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Ramandu's Daughter Implied/Referenced Death, Soft Ending, Unresolved Romantic Tension, a little bittersweet but I like it that way, the people we love come back
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-27
Updated: 2020-07-22
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:29:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 24
Words: 87,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24398053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ceara_Einin/pseuds/Ceara_Einin
Summary: Years have passed. Rosamar and Darin have made a life together, and Caspian has a family of his own. But the danger that haunted Rose's world claims not only Caspian's wife, but his heir. Together, Caspian and Rose must find Prince Rilian and defeat the Emerald Witch once and for all. But even neither of them can possibly be ready for the cost.
Relationships: Caspian (Narnia) & Original Female Character(s), Caspian/Ramandu's Daughter | Liliandil
Series: The Moon World [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1608862





	1. Prologue

All is according to plan. Perhaps, it is even better.

Her first idea was to take the prince and turn his mind to her ends, but when the mother was laying there so vulnerable, so oblivious, how could she resist the perfect moment to destroy the king even more? The disappearance of his son would break him, but if she got rid of the queen too, it would destroy him. He will never have another heir, not with the heartache she inflicted mere weeks ago.

First the death of his queen, and now the supposed death of his son. She will, of course, be sure that Rilian's death is indeed presumed. She still has much work to do with him, after all, and it will simply not to do have him roaming about above ground where any soul could see him. No, she is taking him now to her realm, to the great and fearsome Underland where she has made the gnomes her servants and the very earth bends to her will.

The prince gazes over at her like a love-besotted idiot. Exactly as she has designed. He is already putty in her hands, but her enchantment can only last so long. She must get him to Underland, to her silver chair that can keep him in check when he forgets his new self and reverts to his old, nauseating, knightly ways. She has to hand it to King Caspian, he indoctrinated the boy well in the ways of That Lion.

She refuses to even think the name of so beastly a creature. Wild lion, untamed lion, hmph! What has this all-powerful lion done to stop her plans? He has not lifted one padded paw, one golden strand of fur to stand up to her. She can't help her smirk; Narnia is, and always was destined to be, hers.

With Rilian at her side, she will be unstoppable.


	2. Shall I Lose My Friend Also?

**(Caspian POV)**

With a cry ringing of anguish and fury, Caspian, Tenth of that name, hurls himself toward Lord Drinian with his battle-axe in hand and the promise of death in his eyes. His friend – no, not friend, no friend would do such a thing – stands his ground and bows his head.

No resistance.

Caspian raises the axe with the last breath of his battle cry sounding from his lips. Drinian doesn't move. He knows he has done unforgivable wrong, and…and…

He can't do it.

Caspian takes a great gasping breath and casts aside the axe with tears in his eyes. The metal sings as it hits the cold stone floor.

"I have lost my queen and my son; shall I lose my friend also?" he cries. And with a sob, he falls to his knees and embraces the Lord Drinian.

Not all of the tears falling are his own; Drinian, too, weeps for the loss of the Queen and the Prince. But their friendship will not be broken for this.

"Tell me what happened, Lord Drinian," Caspian gasps out. "I must know all if I am to find this murderous snake."

Drinian draws himself back from his king, straightening his back as he prepares to tell the whole mournful tale. "My king, it began a month after the death of the Queen. Rilian came back from the routine hunts much changed. Some of us said he was seeing visions. At the time, I was sure the loss of his mother was becoming too much for his young mind." Drinian's voice catches. He can't meet Caspian's eyes, and Caspian lets it go. He can barely lift his eyes himself.

"I tried to dissuade him from his quest, for there was little vengeance to be had in killing a mindless worm. It was not the work of man. It was then he told me he had all but forgotten the snake. I inquired as to his daily ventures; he declared he had seen the most beautiful thing that ever was made. I bade him allow me to accompany him the next day that I might see it for myself."

Hands shaking, Lord Drinian sinks back into his knees and puts his head in his hands.

"We rode out the next morning," he chokes out past his weathered fingers.

Caspian's heart quivers in his chest at the tale thus far. There is something else at work here than simple misfortune. When Drinian's words fail him, Caspian sets a hand on his shoulder and bids him continue.

"Go on, Lord Drinian," he urges his friend. "I must know all the ugly truth."

"Rilian alighted at the very same fountain where the Queen met her death, Your Majesty," he continues with a tremor in his voice. "I thought it odd that he should chose such a spot, but I said nothing. Come high noon, on the north side of the fountain there appeared the most beautiful woman I had ever seen, wrapped in a shining garment as green as poison. She said not a word, but merely beckoned to Rilian with her hand. And he stared at this lady like a man fully out of his wits. But suddenly she vanished, and we soon returned to Cair Paravel. I thought at once that there was something not right about this. And I said nothing, as I have told you…" It is quite clear that Drinian cannot go on any more; he buries his face in his hands once more and seems to have a great deal of trouble controlling himself.

Caspian senses that this is the whole tale, at least all that Drinian knows.

"Think you that the worm and the lady were the same?" he asks, gently so as not to startle his trembling friend.

"I do, Sire," Drinian answers with tears lingering in his voice.

"I think the same," Caspian says. "And now, if you will take me to the meadow, I must seek this demon out. It has taken my wife, and my son, but perhaps I can steal the next victim from its fangs before it deals the death blow."

"Your Majesty, you mustn't!" Drinian sits bolt upright at once and seizes Caspian by the shoulders. "You are the last of your line and the king of Narnia! If you are lost to us, we will all be ruined and only the Great Lion himself could save this land."

Caspian shakes his head and grasps Drinian by the arms to loosen his grip. "And what else am I to do, my friend? I cannot sit by and do nothing. This worm has struck at the very heart of Narnia; what other havoc can it wreak with a mere twitch of its tail? No, I must put a stop to whatever it has concocted, and I must do it at once. Now will you aid your king and take him to the scene of these most heinous crimes?"

Drinian is no less frantic to stop the venture for Caspian's determination, but at length he has no choice but to listen to his king.

"Very well, Sire." Drinian finally relents with defeat weighing on his shoulders. "I will do all I can to aid you."

A dark piece of Caspian's heart whispers that it's the least Drinian can do after all that he has done, but the king quickly banishes the thought. He has chosen to forgive his longtime friend, and he will not allow himself to rehash things that will do no good.

"We will leave in the morning, Lord Drinian. But now, we will sup and put this horrid business to the side." Caspian helps his friend to his feet, the battle-axe catching his eye across the way.

In his heart, he knows he never would have forgiven himself had he taken the Drinian's life in payment for his son's. That is not the way of Narnia, nor is it the way of a king.

* * *

True to his word, Drinian indeed takes Caspian to that accursed fountain the next day. Caspian insists on being shown exactly where the green-robed beauty stood, and where exactly Drinian was sitting, and where exactly Rilian was sitting. At the thought of his lost son, Caspian's agony returns to stab at his heart, but he has no choice but to push it aside. Rilian would have wanted to see the worm finished.

Is it not usually the son who finishes the father's work, not the other way around?

How the world has turned since Caspian was a young man.

"There she stood," Drinian explains with a tremor in his voice. "Silent as a ghost, there on the north side."

"And she did no more than beckon with her hand?" Caspian knows full well that she did nothing more, Drinian said as much yesterday, but he needs to hear it again in the very spot it happened.

"Yes, my lord. Nothing more." Drinian turns a mournful gaze toward the fountain, regret and pain twisting his face.

Caspian stays there in the meadow until high noon, hoping the lady will show herself so he can interrogate her at once. It would be bad form to murder a lady in cold blood, after all, but the moment the truth spilled from her lips he could do as he pleased. So much the better if she took to her snake's form.

At once, Caspian is hit with an idea. "Return to Cair Paravel, Lord Drinian," he calls, springing towards his mount with a frantic gleam in his eye. "I must send a message at once."

* * *

"Take this to the city of Telmara, and make certain you deliver it straight to Rosamar. No other hands must touch this letter, am I understood?"

"Y-yes, Majesty," stammers a squire whom Caspian has tasked with contacting his old friend.

"And do not, on pain of death, open that letter for anything in all the lands." Caspian fixes the boy with his sternest stare. He has not forgotten his promise of secrecy to Rose, not even in times as dark as this.

"I swear it, Your Majesty," says the boy. "I will see this to her as fast as the horse will carry me."

"Then waste no time," Caspian urges, turning from him to pace the room with his hands clasped behind his back. "Your provisions are already packed; all you must do is ride."

The squire scurries off faster than Caspian thought his legs could go. His last, admittedly repetitious, demand to be careful with that letter dies before he can shout it out after his makeshift messenger.

As the squire disappears out of his study, Caspian runs anxious fingers through his hair and prays that Rose will forgive his risk. He has no other way of communicating with her short of riding out to the city, and he cannot do so at the moment. He is busy making all the necessary arrangements to allow him to seek the serpent. Trumpkin is getting old, but he has more than enough pluck to look after Narnia in his absence. Glenstorm and Drinian will lend their hands where needed as well. Narnia will be in the best hands he can provide.

With the squire gone, his study is suddenly far too quiet. He needs to get out in the open air, needs to spar with Glenstorm needs to…to…to do _something_ besides sit here in this office where his beloved queen would visit him, bring him afternoon tea, harp on him for missing dinner yet again to tend to the paperwork. This place holds so many memories of her. But if he goes outside, it will be his son who haunts him.

His son, his Rilian, who already showed such promise. He would have been a fair and noble prince, a Knight of Narnia who would have done his father and his country proud.

Caspian slams his fist into the desk, barely noticing the throb that blooms soon afterward. Why them? Why his queen, his wife, his love? She, the purest soul in Narnia with the blood of stars in her veins. Why his son? His heir, who was years in coming and rejoiced for so exultantly upon his birth. Why them, why either of them, why now? How in the name of the Lion had he missed the arrival of evil into Narnia?

His hands catch his head as it falls toward the desk. He should have noticed something, there had to have been signs...

Perhaps it will make more sense when Rose sends a letter back. There is a possibility she knows something of this snake, and if she does he intends to get every last syllable out of her.

Caspian shakes his head, trying to clear out the thought before he can finish it. He mustn't think that way; if Rose had known anything she would have told him at once. The only thing he's hoping she can offer is some insight and the benefits of experience and a clearer memory than he possesses. That snake that threatened Tanssi Kuun all those years ago...Caspian knows it is probably not the same one, but he must know for sure.

If it is...how did it get to Narnia?

Perhaps it used the same door that Rose did. Perhaps that is how it left one world and came to haunt this one, stealing away his family and-

He must stop these thoughts, he simply must. They are sure to run away with him, and it won't do to answer Rose's incoming letter with anger and accusations. She had more than enough of that when he first knew her, and he has no intention of adding to her mistrust of her fellow citizens, no matter his own situation and difficulties.

Difficulties indeed...

"Aslan," Caspian whispers into his palms. "Why? Why have you allowed them to be taken from me?"

His heart screams for the Great Lion to answer him, but who is he to demand answers? He is in great pain, he is angry and heartsore and exhausted, but no matter his state the Lion deserves all his utmost respect. It is Caspian's duty to give it to him.

He wants so much to ask why again, to roar it at the heavens and make all the kingdom hear his pain. He can't; he shouldn't. No, not when his people are almost as distraught at he. He has lost his family; they have lost hope of peace after his passing. They have lost their well-loved Crown Prince and the Queen who always stood by them.

Caspian swipes at the lone tear that slips from his eye and stands from his armchair. He's got to get out of this study - it's stifling him, trapping him in a cycle of poisonous thoughts.

He wants to remember that fleeting moment of hope again, when he thought that perhaps Rose could help him figure this out, that perhaps she would have an answer he could not find. But now, that is tainted by his musings about Tanssi Kuun and its snake.

He's on his feet and walking before he's even figured out where he's going.

Weary legs carry him onward through the halls. They stop when he stands before his Professor's old library.

With a heavy heart, Caspian pushes the door open and breathes in the comfort of dusty books and meticulously preserved scrolls. It's been years since the death of his childhood professor, but Caspian can't help but miss his dearest and oldest friend. When he steps inside the library - larger than the Professor's study in the Telmarine castle - time could wind backwards and he wouldn't be the least bit surprised.

"You would have known exactly what to say," Caspian murmurs to the abandoned armchair. It's collecting dust again. He's been negligent about cleaning in here.

Since his professor's passing, Caspian had taken it upon himself to keep the cozy space clean and welcoming, just as the Professor liked it. Well, there are no overflowing scrolls tumbling off the mahogany desk nor stacks of old books rivaling Aslan in height, but then again Cornelius had gotten the cleaning bug a few times a year. Most often, it came when his research hit a standstill and his responsibilities as Lord Chancellor were slow.

Caspian's lost count of how many memories he has of helping move precious volumes and paintings from one end of the room to another, of trying to find just one more inch of space on the bookshelf to house just _one more_ book.

"There is a place for everything, my dear boy!" Doctor Cornelius would always say with a merry chuckle. "We must only find it."

More often than not, that space ended up being the extra inch or two between the top of the bookshelves and the ceiling, and then Cornelius would forget that he'd stashed one specific book up there and Caspian would find him rummaging around trying to find it, missing supper in the process. And of course, all the hard work of organizing would be undone.

A fond smile lightens the heavy lines in Caspian's forehead. His heart tugs with the dull sorrow that he's grown used to, but the gladness is still there and much more potent. Stepping across the Professor's favorite rug that depicts a Narnian hunting scene, Caspian crosses the room and plops into the armchair. This was always his spot to let go of kingly behavior, and he's sure that the Professor would be pleased it is still such.

"I am at a loss, Professor," Caspian begins, addressing the faded chair across from his seat that was not always empty. "Well, I am not at a total loss, but…"

How to continue? What exactly is he feeling? Even Caspian doesn't know.

If the Professor were here, he would fold his hands on his belly and wait for his old pupil to try again.

"I have an idea, something to grasp at you see, but it feels so…hollow." Caspian runs a hand over his face, stopping to press his fingers against his eyelids. "It is my duty to seek and destroy this worm before it harms another. Yet what is the meaning to it? Killing it will not bring back Lilliandil."

It's perhaps the third time he's said her name in all the weeks since she was taken so cruelly from him.

His voice catches. "It will not bring back my son."

He can almost hear the Professor's small sigh, can almost see the sad downturn of the lips hidden under the beard.

"And suppose Rose knows nothing. Suppose this witch and the snake that plagued her world are not the same, that they are of no relation to each other. I will have nothing to go on."

And here, Cornelius would say not to think of that yet. He would say that thinking so negatively would help nothing. Perhaps he would suggest a new project to take his mind off it. Professor Cornelius was forever finding inane little ways of distracting him when he needed it.

One of the best was telling Caspian to be a great help and find the name of a mushroom he'd stumbled on deep in the forest.

"You had best know what sort of mushroom it is you are ingesting in that venison and rice dish you have dedicated yourself to devouring!" the Professor had said with an open dare in his eyes. "Botany never was your strongest subject."

The challenge had been so strange that Caspian had gone along with it for the sheer amusement. And when the strange fungus had turned out to be a chicken mushroom, well, the amusement only grew and the whole endeavor made a superb tale for friends over the dish that used it.

Lilliandil had teased him mercilessly about that mushroom after he came back from harvesting it with the kitchen staff and brought it to the bedroom that night. She'd only laughed when he'd launched into the various properties of the mushroom and asked if this was all the Professor's idea. When he'd confessed that yes, it was, she shook her head and wondered aloud at the things he found to keep Caspian's head screwed on tightly.

"I will wait patiently then," Caspian says at length to the still-empty chair. "Perhaps I will even find a chicken mushroom in my soup tonight."

His heart still heavy, but perhaps not quite so heavy as before, Caspian brushes the dust from the desks and chairs and leaves to find something to occupy himself in the days of waiting until Rose's reply arrives.

And wait he does, and ever so patiently.

Well, patience is the only temperament he shows to the public. Caspian's bedroom mirror sees more of his doubt and sorrow than he would like to admit. But one day, at long last, the semblance of patience pays off.

One particularly blustery autumn afternoon, the squire he sent off comes rushing back in when he's passing through the throne room on his way to afternoon tea. (Trumpkin still insists that he will not be a dwarf who eats all the biscuits on his own and that it is Caspian's solemn duty to at least pretend to sip the tea with him.)

"Your Majesty!" calls the squire, gangly legs propelling him across the room faster than Caspian thought him capable.

"You have a reply?" Caspian says at once, frantically scanning the squire's hands for that slip of paper with his answer. "Well where is it?" he demands, not so politely as he should.

"It's-"

The squire is interrupted by the groaning of the doors as they are shoved open. A familiar figure strides through, almost as quickly as the squire.

"Your Majesty," the woman says, curtsying mid-stride and hurrying the rest of the way to stand before him.

"Rose?"


	3. Magic Always Leaves a Trace

**(Rose POV)**

It's a normal day at Sima's when the news arrives in the city. Nina leaps to her feet at the sound of hooves clattering past the door outside, carding paddles falling into the fraying basket forgotten.

"News from Cair Paravel! Oh do let's go and see what it is!" she twitters. Why she is always so ravenous for news from the east, I will never know.

"She will only be a minute, I'm sure," I tell Sima. She's gotten a bit more snappy over the years, though it's never malicious.

"Be sure you are," she says sternly, almost fully engrossed in her weaving.

Nina begins to scamper out, but Sima stops her.

"And be sure you catch every word so you can report back." Sima's eyes twinkle with indulgence, and I can't help but grin along.

With a grin and a promise, Nina is off.

Sima and I sit there spinning and weaving peacefully, even as the clamor builds outside. On the rare occasions news travels on horseback, almost everyone in the city decides they simply _must_ see the bringers of the news, otherwise known at the subject of gossip for the next month or so. Sima always grumbles that she is far too old for such nonsense, and I dislike crowds, so we both keep each other company while the rest of the town goes wild.

"What do you suppose it is this time?" I ask above the clack-clack of the loom and the steady whirr of the spinning wheel.

"How should I know?" Sima retorts. "We'll find out soon enough."

I only nod and smile. Sima's grumpiness never fails to amuse me, and I think she knows it too.

We're content with our work throughout the spectacle, and soon enough Nina indeed comes back. I notice then that the city has gone uncommonly quiet.

"What is it, Nina?" I ask at once, dread pooling in my stomach. She's never this quiet after retrieving news for us.

When Nina looks up to meet my eyes, her own are swimming with tears.

"The Queen is dead," she whispers.

Oh no.

"The Queen…" I have to clear my throat before I can continue. "The Queen of Narnia? Lilliandil?"

Nina nods silently.

"Are you sure?" I press, though my voice is hoarse and I know that it must be her or why would Nina be crying?

Nina looks at me aghast, and suddenly I can't form a single syllable.

How, when…I want to ask these things, but I'm frozen.

"It was only days ago," Nina explains. "They say it was a great green worm that bit her. I…I think she was picnicking."

Of course, she loved picnicking, but why now? The weather is getting cold and-

She must have wanted one last escapade before the coming of winter. But wasn't anyone there, wouldn't…someone had to have seen a snake slithering through the grass.

"I think the day's work must wait until tomorrow." Sima's voice cuts through my reeling thoughts.

Nina's wool remains in its wicker basket, abandoned and mostly still matted together. Sima's loom ceases its clacking and she stands with a hand on her back.

"You're getting a bit old for the loom, you know," I find myself whispering.

"Come, Rose, I want you to build me a fire."

Nina rushes to Sima's side and supports her back. I should help, yes. What did Sima want again?

"A fire, dear," she reminds me as she shuffles by, laying a gentle hand on my shoulder as she passes.

"Yes, of course," I murmur, rushing ahead to get the doors.

Nina and I see Sima inside her small but cozy home behind the shop. The door creaks a little as I push it open, and the handle worn smooth from use wiggles against my hand. This time, I don't joke that she should get that handle fixed. I always do, but…

A fire, that's what she needed.

Nina helps Sima to a rickety old rocking chair beside the hearth. Once I make sure Sima is settled, I fetch the kindling from out back and use the flint she keeps on the mantle to start her fire. I sit to the side and warm my hands as Sima starts her rocking. The heat against my palms chases away some of the numb shock.

"Would you like me to make lunch?" Nina asks quietly.

"No, no need," Sima murmurs. She plays with the blanket Lilia crocheted for her last year and stares at her hands. "We will begin work as usual tomorrow morning unless it is the day of mourning."

Nina turns to go, her footsteps slower and heavier than usual.

"Thank you, child," Sima says, looking up from the blanket to smile at her.

Once Nina closes the door behind her, I turn to Sima and ask if she needs anything else.

"No thank you, Rose, I am well," she says.

I don't know what to say, but staring into the growing flames helps keep my thoughts at bay. The heat starts to make my fingers uncomfortably warm.

"You may rest tomorrow."

"I'm alright," I immediately cut in. "I'm just…surprised. That's all."

The lie feels thick on my tongue.

"You and the Queen were very close." Sima says this carefully. It's so strange to hear such gentleness…Sima has always been kind, but she's never been much for emotional support. She's gruff and fair and doesn't ask questions, only states expectations.

"I'm alright," I whisper again. I know saying it again won't make it more true, but I can't help it. I still don't like others to know of my troubles.

"Nina will make you dinner?" I ask. I should go home - Darin will be worried and I could use a shoulder to lean on right now.

"Go home," is all Sima says. The flap of her hand has none of the usual snap and twinkle of understanding.

"I'll be back in the morning." Leaving the warmth of the fireplace makes keeping myself quiet and composed more difficult.

The walk home feels far too long, far too lonely.

Oh Lion...Caspian, Rilian. They must be destroyed.

I shake my head as I continue down the street, the aging cobblestones rough through my shoes. I wouldn't know what to say, but my heart squeezes painfully at how much worse this is for them.

When I finally get home, to the house Darin and I share halfway between Sima's shop and his blacksmith forge, he's waiting for me.

I'm not ashamed to practically fall into his arms. He pulls me in close and strokes my hair. It almost feels like he's telling me I can cry if I need to, but I'm not about to do that here in the street, no matter if we're halfway inside the door. I pull free long enough to slip inside and tug him with me.

"Are you alright?" he murmurs, cupping my cheek with one hand and scanning my face tenderly.

"Rilian and Caspian are much worse," I whisper.

I let my husband hold me for enough moments that I can catch my breath and keep my feelings in check.

"Did you hear it? In the square?"

Darin nods. "I looked for you, but when I saw Nina I knew you wouldn't be there. Rose-"

"I'm cold," I interrupt. I've no wish to discuss this, not yet.

"I'll light a fire." Darin kisses my forehead before he goes to pile the wood. He understands, and I know that now he won't ask anything unless I bring it up first. He's learned when to leave it lie over the years.

In minutes, Darin leads me over to a roaring blaze and wraps a blanket – a gift from Lilia when she visited for the holidays last year – around my shoulders.

No sooner have I settled down than the door flies open and in rushes our clacking hen of a neighbor. The newlywed woman means well, but she has a bigger appetite for gossip than a horse has for sugar cubes.

At once, Darin rushes from my side to deflect her incoming chatter.

"Have you heard about our beloved Queen?" Bronwen bursts out. "Why, it's the talk of the city! Where do you suppose that awful snake could have gone to?"

"As you just said, the whole of the city knows," Darin gentle cuts in. "We are all devastated."

"But the snake!" Bronwen practically explodes. "What if it's traversing all of Narnia, hunting for its next meal?" She wrings her hands together with eyes bugged out for effect. I do my best not to snap that the snake is the least of the problem and how _dare_ she start gossiping about Lilliandil's death and doesn't she know better and-

"Bronwen, the Queen is gone. We should focus on mourning." Darin is firm, but so much kinder than I could have been.

It's a miracle Bronwen hasn't noticed me sitting here in front of the fire. I thank the Lion that the hearth is off to the side.

To Bronwen's credit, she does seem contrite. "Yes, yes of course," she hurries to say.

An awkward silence descends, during which I pray she won't look off to her left where I sit, still as a stone.

"I should be off," she finally says. "Good day." And with that, my prayers are answered and I let out a whooshing breath of relief once the door closes behind her.

"Thanks," I say to Darin as he returns to my side. "I didn't have the patience."

"She doesn't mean to be so irritating," he answers with a sympathetic shrug.

"Comes naturally, I suppose." I should be at least a little ashamed of my grumbling, but I'm not in the mood to be perfectly polite.

"I'll take care of dinner tonight," Darin says, wrapping his arm around my shoulders and rubbing my upper arm. I let my head fall to rest against him.

"Thank you."

* * *

The entire city does indeed have a day of mourning. Sima doesn't ask for us to return to work for another day after that, and I wonder if she's doing it for my sake. On some level, I hope not - sitting around the house with little to do except wallow doesn't do much good.

Days pass, weeks pass, and the fog over the city and over me starts to lessen. Darin notices the change before I do, and that helps too. I often wonder if I should send a letter, something, to Caspian, but I wouldn't know what to say. No words will take away his sorrow.

But just over a month after the news of Lilli came, worse news rides into the city on the lips of a messenger.

"The Crown Prince Rilian has disappeared!" comes the news echoing across the square.

Caspian, Caspian, what's happening? Your son…

Tears pool in my eyes and I have to turn away before the rest of the story sounds from the crier's lips. Losing Lilliandil would have been awful enough for Caspian, but losing Rilian too?

I drown myself in work that day, and the next, and the next as well. Sima asks if I need time, but I practically beg her to let me keep working. Bless her, she doesn't ask for an explanation - she only hands me the key and tells me to slip it under her door when I'm done for the night.

Those days, I card and spin through the night, and when Sima opens the shop up again she finds me spinning away early too. I've never produced so much thread in my life, but it's what I need. Sima's incredulous and Nina tells me with a smile not to steal her work. The surprised praise is good for me, just like the extra work.

Of course, Darin has a few things to say about my hours. The first night, when I stayed well past midnight, I came home to find him still awake. He was waiting for me. After asking me rather emphatically where in the name of all things I'd been, he realizes what I was doing and just hugs me instead.

I reassure him that I'm fine, but he still reheats the leftover soup and makes sure I ate every bite in the bowl.

The worst night is the night I don't come home at all. Sima comes at first light to find me still plugging away at the wool and gives me one of the worst scoldings of my life.

"You cannot work yourself to death, Rosamar," she finishes with her hands firmly on her hips. "Work when you must, but you know as well as I you cannot continue like this!"

I don't apologize, but I say it wouldn't happen again. Apparently, that isn't quite enough for Sima - she sends Nina to fetch Darin the next night when it's hours past sunset and she spies my candle through the window.

Darin has a few – well, more than a few – words for me too. Once Nina goes home, I toss my own words back at him, until it's a horrid fight. I apologize for that, and so does he. And on nights when I don't want to go home just yet, Darin sits with me by the spinning wheel until my eyelids get heavy. It's only then he insists on taking me home and putting me to bed himself. With his arms wrapped around me as he sleeps, I can't move much at all without waking him and so sleep soon comes.

And now, it's been only half a week since the news of Rilian and a squire with the legs of a gangly colt is bursting into the shop with a letter in hand and sweat running in rivers down his face.

"It's from King Caspian, my lady," he gasps, kneading his side with his free hand. "I've not opened it, I swear! I promised."

The letter, crinkled from its long travel, is practically shoved into my hands. Nina rushes over to the squire telling him to "Please sit down, and I'll fetch you some water," and insisting that he take her stool as his seat.

I open the note with shaking hands, wondering what on earth Caspian has to say. I was sure he'd be buried in grief and trying to keep Narnia together (as well he should be!), not concerned with talking to me.

_Rose,_

_By now you must have heard of the terrible calamity that has befallen Narnia and myself. Rilian is now gone, disappeared after a month of seeking the worm that killed his mother. The Lord Drinian has told me that days before Rilian was lost to us, he was meeting a beautiful lady enrobed in green at the very same fountain where Lilli was bitten. I think the lady and the snake to be the same._

_What I must know is this: I must know if you think it possible that this snake is the same creature that plagued Tanssi Kuun those long years ago. I have not seen it in so long, but in my heart I fear they may be one in the same. I beg you to write everything you remember of that evil serpent and send it back with the squire I have sent with all haste. I intend to seek out this foul beast and eradicate it from this earth, and any help your words will give is sorely needed._

_Caspian_

Oh God. What if he's right?

I stare at down at the letter in pure shock. The snake, from so long ago…it could be.

"Sima, would you excuse me?" I whisper, eyes still fixed on the page. "There is something I must attend to."

"You have worked more than your share these past days. Go."

Sima doesn't have to tell me twice. I call the directions to my house over my shoulder to the squire, who is now gulping down water as fast as Nina will bring it to him. Perhaps he acknowledges my frantic words, but I've no time to check. No, I must hurry home and remember every detail I can of that battle for my world.

I race through the streets, for once unconcerned with how many people take notice of me. All I know is that they scurry out of my path and I mumble my thanks as I speed by. By the time I reach my home, I'm clutching my side and tumbling into the living room where I read the letter over once more.

The snake…now what exactly happened after the battle? I remember fighting the snake, and I remember Caspian joining in to help, but I don't remember us killing it. No, that's right, it left! It just slithered off after Caspian dealt a particularly nasty swipe at an open wound, and neither the faeries nor I ever saw it again.

It could still be alive.

Perhaps it hid away in the mountains, or perhaps it slithered out the same way it came. Or perhaps...perhaps, it found the door to Narnia.

My blood freezes in my veins. I could have led it here. Unwittingly, but that doesn't mitigate the mistake.

Staring into the ashen remains of last night's fire, I go over all I know. I recall the color of the scales as much as possible, the shape, how large it was, what its eyes looked like, what it said to me – everything.

It told me every land needed a queen, but Narnia had one. Tanssi Kuun had no ruler, and still doesn't. Perhaps it isn't the same, perhaps it's only of a similar breed, or perhaps it's another one entirely. Caspian didn't mention if this snake could talk.

My head spins. Unless I can see this thing in person, there's no way to know, not for certain. I can only guess. If I'm to tell the difference, at the very least I have to go to the meadow, see if it left any traces behind.

An idea sparks.

A glance out the window shows me there are enough hours left before Darin returns that I can rush to Tanssi Kuun to see if it holds any answers. The faeries have taught me many things – including sensing a presence that is no longer there. All things with magic leave traces, and if Caspian thinks the snake and Rilian's green beauty are the same, it is absolutely a magical creature we're dealing with.

On my way out the door, I throw on a cloak and make my way out of the city. In the daylight I can't simply slip by under people's noses, so I do my best to just blend in. I almost always go to Tanssi Kuun at night even now, but I don't think this can wait. I have to know if it's the same snake, if I accidentally threw open its path into Narnia. Was that what it really wanted all along?

Now beyond the purview of the city, I hurry through the woods through the familiar trees. The leaves are a rainbow of warm colors, and the ground is littered with brown leaves that crunch under my feet with each step. If my errand weren't so pressing, I would stop to admire it – the sun slanting through the branches, the reds and oranges and rusty yellows, the crisp tang in the air that burns a bit if I inhale too deeply. It's another cold autumn day, my favorite kind of weather.

There's no time for appreciating the scenery. I break into a run once I'm sure the trees completely hide me from the main road to the city. When my tree is in sight, I breathlessly call "kuu" and press my pendant to the key,

The cold lessens considerably once I step into Tanssi Kuun. The cold has already come, and spring is on its way. The air is still nippy, but I can breathe as deeply as I wish.

No one is around the door right now, and expectedly so. The faeries are used to my nightly visits, not daytime callings. I continue my dash through the grasses that scrape my skin if I'm careless toward the forest. When they're not waiting for me to get here, the faeries spend most of their time in the forest among the evergreens.

This is exactly where I find them. They clamor from their circle (they were likely trading stories again) to say hello, but the look on my face and the dread in my heart stops them cold.

"Rose, what ever is the matter?" Bashar rushes to ask. "We haven't seen you in days, and your heart is dark with sorrow."

I don't waste a second. "You know Lilliandil was killed by a snake. Now Rilian too is gone, and Caspian thinks the snake is the woman who lured Rilian away and the same one that threatened us so long ago. I need to find out if that's true."

"Magic," whispers Lari. She's been my teacher in the faerie ways for almost a decade now.

I nod. "You taught me it always leaves a trace. I need you to help me find a trace and follow it. Teach me, please," I beg.

Teach me they do. For hours, I work to recognize even the smallest magical signature. First I learn to sense a signature, then to find weaker ones. We do the best we can with the limited time. At some point, we all lose all sense of time, the half dozen of us working on this. When I next check the sky, the moon is long set and it looks close to midnight.

Darin must be worried.

"Thank you," I quickly say to my teachers. "I cannot even begin to thank you properly, but I must go now. I'll be back as soon as I can, I promise."

"You will not be back for some time?" Bashar asks, her lights dimming ever so slightly as she stares at me.

"If I let that creature into Narnia, I have to try and make it right," I whisper. I know they feel the flood of misery consume me, but I'm too tired from the hours of magic-tracing to even begin to school it. "Darin will come often."

Lari links one of her light ribbons with Bashar's and sends reassurance.

"Be careful, Rose," Lari says. "I think we all know what you mean to do."

I swallow. I have no intention of getting myself into danger, but I know they're right - it may find me anyway. Still, I promise to stay safe as much as I can, because if something happened to me who would look after them? Darin could, we even agreed on that should something awful happen, but I don't want to put him in that position.

I say my goodbyes and return home to a rather peeved husband.

"Rose," he says with a long sigh as I slip inside. "I was worried." He holds up a folded piece of paper sticking out of a roughly sealed envelope – the letter.

"Tanssi Kuun had a way of finding an answer," I whisper as I shrug off my cloak and join him at the kitchen table. "I had to."

"I'm glad you went there," Darin says quickly. "I was hoping you would soon. I thought it would help."

"It did." I shift in my seat, the wooden chair suddenly too firm against my backside. How do I tell him that I intend to leave for Cair Paravel and that he has to stay here and look after the faeries?

Darin lets the letter flutter down to the table and folds his arms. "You're going to Cair Paravel, aren't you?"

"If I let that snake in, Darin…" I swallow the guilt threatening to steal my voice. "I have to help if I can."

"There could have been another door-"

I still Darin's fidgeting hands with my own and meet his eyes at last. "Caspian has lost almost everything; what else _can_ I do?"

Darin pulls one hand free and runs it through his hair. He tends to do that when he knows he's lost an argument and he's trying to keep his calm.

"Rose…"

He's going to try to stop me, I'm sure. I inadvertently stiffen as I wait for the rest of his words.

"Be careful."

My gaze snaps back to meet his eyes, eyes that are swimming with worry. He sighs again. He's as resigned as he's going to be, and that's all I can ask for.

"Thank you," I breathe, my own eyes welling up.

"Would I get any peace if I tried to stop you?" he asks with a smile that's just a little too heavy.

"No," I answer honestly, trying to make my grin more playful than apologetic. I can't say if it works.

Darin promises to look after the faeries in my absence, and I tell Sima as much of the truth as I can. Nina promises to look after the wheel while I'm away, and it doesn't make me bristle and tease that she's trying to steal my job like usual.

Of course, when I tell the squire (who is now well-rested, no longer beet-red and soaked in his own sweat) of my plan he's both thankful and unsure. But in the end, we set out the next morning at first light.

A piece of me begs for Caspian's forgiveness the entire ride.


	4. Hope at the Meadow

**(Caspian POV)**

"I couldn't tell just from a letter," she says, eyes shining with a fire he'd come to know well. "But I have a way to be sure."

Caspian is utterly speechless.

She came from days away to help, in spite of her own responsibilities. She could have sent a letter. That is what he was expecting, the most he ever asked, and yet here she stands before him with the promise of answers in her eyes.

"Caspian?" Rose gently touches his arm, as if to bring him back to reality.

"Thank you, Rose," he whispers, breathless and taken aback.

"I need to go to the meadow," she says quietly, like she's afraid of spooking him. "It's the only way I know to figure this out."

The mere mention of _that_ meadow makes Caspian's heart clench painfully in his chest. Rose sees this, he knows she does. His pain is not so obvious in his face – he's spent long hours at night practicing to make sure – but he is well aware that his heart cannot hide it the same way.

"If you tell me how to get there, I can go alone."

The offer is gentle and welcome, but Caspian knows he can't simply skirt away from this. He remains determined to find that worm and finish it. He can't do that if he sits back and lets Rose do all the work.

So Caspian shakes his head though he does nothing to stifle his gratitude. "I can't ask you to go out there alone. I will accompany you."

Oh, the words sound so much more noble than he feels! After so much impatience, doubt, fear, grief - the sudden appearance of his old friend and all that she's offering is almost too much. In his heart, Caspian thanks Aslan over and over again for this gift.

"Very well. We should go at first light," says Rose.

First light? Caspian would much prefer to go now and get it over with!

He's moments away from saying as much, but at the last second before his mouth opens Caspian remembers just what Rose has done. She's ridden long and hard to be here, and she must be unspeakably exhausted.

"Yes, of course," Caspian hurries to assure her before she picks up on the impatience that has returned to him. "Please, allow me to show you to your rooms."

Rose surprises him by shaking her head. "I think I've stayed here enough to know where you'll have me. Go on to tea, Caspian. We can talk more over dinner." And with that, she strides away with little sign of how worn she must be.

The squire, on the other hand, looks much worse for the wear. The poor boy has been standing here in respectful silence while he struggled to catch his breath.

"Go and rest," Caspian tells the boy. "You've more than earned it."

"Thank you, Sire," says the squire, rushing off with plain relief written across his young features.

Sometimes Rilian had that same look when he was younger. It would often come after Caspian took a few hours out of his schedule to train him. When Rilian was quite young, the relief was quick and full of mischief; Caspian knew that his son scurried right to the kitchens to filch a cookie from under the cooks' noses, but he never said anything. Rilian's brand of mischief was merry and hardly malicious. Why should he not let the boy have his fun?

Caspian shakes the fond memory away, all too aware of the tightness in his chest and the wetness in his eyes. His son…

Aimlessly, Caspian continues on his way to Trumpkin's, no longer very much in the mood for tea. But the aging dwarf would have several words with him if he failed to appear, and Caspian is hardly in the mood for a lecture about tea and biscuits and manners.

He will go to tea - perhaps it will take his mind off of things.

* * *

When dinnertime comes around, Caspian the Tenth is leaning over the desk in his room with his head in his hands and bloodshot eyes. He had not meant to cry, but the memories of Rilian wouldn't go away during tea and he couldn't bear it. He had to let it all out here in the privacy of his room.

It used to be Lilliandil's room too.

"My Queen," he whispers, holding onto a foolish, impossible hope that she will materialize and say he has only dreamed this past month.

Then comes a knock on the door, and it's all Caspian can do to not to holler at the interrupting party to do _go away_ and come back tomorrow because he has no care at all for dinner this night.

It's Rose.

When he doesn't answer – he's attempting to clean the marks of his sorrow from his cheeks – she cracks the door and calls his name.

"Caspian?" she says, the door muffling her words in spite of the crack. "It's dinnertime."

"Just a moment," Caspian rushes to reply. "I'm indisposed." And indisposed he is, but not in the way she is thinking.

"You don't have to come down, but I thought you'd at least want to know." Rose pauses and starts to close the door. "I'll have something sent up for you."

All in a hurry, Caspian _does_ want to go to dinner, if only to distract him from his grief for a little while. He knows he probably should get out of this room.

He finishes cleaning up and practically runs to the door that Rose has just closed, grabbing the handle and pulling it back open. "It's alright," he blurts as Rose turns with a startled look. He strides forward in spite of himself. What will the castle say if the king does not come to dinner?

Rose frowns at once. His eyes must still be ringed with red, and she is almost too good at seeing through his fronts by now.

"Caspian…perhaps you should rest. You look…well…"

"Awful?" he finishes for her with a wry smile.

She nods and lays a worried hand on his shoulder. "I won't ask if you're alright, but will you be?"

Caspian looks down at his boots. He is so used to being strong, so used to putting on his bravest front for his people that the question takes him off guard. In a small way, he's ashamed.

He can't say.

"I do not know." He resigns himself to it as soon as he says it, and his heart sinks a little more.

Caspian isn't sure what Rose will say to that, but she still manages to surprise him. She doesn't say anything. All she does is pull him forward by his shoulder and smile gently.

"Come on. We're already late."

* * *

In the morning they ride out to the meadow, and on the way Caspian apologizes for his mood last night. Well, he tries to but Rose hushes him before he gets out the second word.

"You don't have anything to apologize for," Rose interrupts firmly.

Caspian thanks her and tries to remember that he has seen her fall apart before, that it's alright she's now seeing him do the same.

She is the only person left he can still be completely honest with. She's the one friend he doesn't have to ever feel ashamed around. It's good to see her in a time such as this.

Once they arrive at the meadow, the fountain rushing along with the occasional fallen leaf marring the water and the grass swaying in the crisp breeze, Caspian manages to put the previous night behind him in favor of finally getting an answer. Perhaps, he will have found a place to start.

Yet a small and tiny part of him wishes to turn about and never come back to this place. Not only for the evil that paid it two visits, but for what an affirmative answer will provide. If it is indeed the same snake, Caspian knows he will not be the only one asking how it got here.

"Where exactly was Lilli, when she was bitten?" Rose struggles with the words, voice catching on the last bit. Caspian remembers with a start that Rose lost a dear friend in Lilliandil, something he had, up to this point, almost completely forgotten.

"That, I don't know," Caspian murmurs. "Only that the green-clad lady stood by that accursed fountain, and there she beckoned to my son."

Rose sets her jaw and strides toward the rushing water without a backward glance. Caspian almost stays behind, but what good would that do? He has to know, and there is little use in asking Rose to simply walk back and tell him.

His stomach churns as they approach even as a complicated hope stirs in his chest. He isn't sure what to hope for, but in his heart Caspian wants little more than to simply have some sort of lead, no matter the consequences. Those could come later, the waves of continued grief and the inconsolable demands for _why_ Aslan allowed this. Now, however, is not the time, nor does Caspian have the luxury of indulging the grim future even for a moment.

Caspian catches up to Rose's fierce pace right as they arrive at the fountain. They shift to its northern side. The water gurgles alongside them, babbling against the piled stones like nothing at all is the matter and there never was anything the matter. The fountain seems to laugh at their solemnity, their sorrow. Caspian almost swears he can feel the water beckoning and telling him to stop being foolish, that there are no answers here. What he should do is relax, sleep, and think of wiser things than chasing loose ends.

Rose freezes at once, skin flushing pale and eyes wide in her face. She knows, Caspian knows instantly that she knows. He schools himself from interrogating her only just barely. She'll come to tell him in a few moments, he must only be patient…Caspian has been patient for _so very long_.

"Rose, what is it?" he blurts, barely caring that her eyes are telling him she needed another minute to gather herself.

She doesn't answer right away - perhaps she can't. Caspian wants to apologize, yet he's practically quaking with dread and hope.

"You…" Rose's voice catches and a distant look comes to her eyes. "You were right." She looks away. "It's the same."

Caspian is so relieved and so sorry and so…so…angry.

Rose sees it in his heart, he knows she must. Why else would she step away and turn her back to him? Why else would she crouch and touch the ground with her fingers, all the while bowing her head in what he assumes to be sorrow?

"You are certain?" Caspian _must_ be sure before he jumps to conclusions. Lilli would be so upset if he destroyed a dear friendship without being positively, absolutely, irrevocably certain...

"Do I look doubtful to you?" she snaps, harsh and defensive. Is that guilt he hears echoing in her voice?

Caspian knows full well he shouldn't let the words slip out. Yet, they manage to do just exactly that. "How did it get here?"

Rose doesn't answer. She only stoops there beside the rushing water unmoving, hand pressed to the earth as if it holds all the answers. As if she can will away the truth simply by wishing it.

This time, Caspian knows not to push her. If he knows her at all, they're thinking the same thing. Quite possibly, that snake entered Narnia from Rose's door.

"You never should have helped me." Rose sounds almost accusatory, as if it was he who insisted on helping her.

She's right; he was, wasn't he? She tried to tell him…

At once, Caspian remembers his words to Drinian. "Shall I lose my friend also?" he'd cried upon casting aside the axe. He forgave his sea-faring friend for his mistakes. Can he not forgive Rose for hers, especially as they can't be sure if it truly was her door or not?

"Rose," Caspian whispers, his anger draining in an instant. "We can't know anything for sure."

She stands with fire in her eyes. "First you think to blame me, and now you school me on uncertainty?"

Caspian doesn't know what to say. He's trying to give her door the benefit of the doubt, trying so hard and she's not making it easy at all. She blames herself, Caspian realizes, more than he ever could. And she will continue to do so no matter what he says.

"Come, let us return to the Cair. Perhaps things will be clearer at a distance."

Rose is shaking her head before Caspian finishes.

"Go if you must, but I intend to stay here. I may be able to figure out where she was headed." With her eyes, Rose openly dares him to defy her.

Lion help him, Caspian ignores the warning in her eyes anyway.

"Rose, there is nothing to be gained here presently. Please, let us go to breakfast and return later."

"As I've said," Rose returns coldly, "go if you wish. I'm staying."

There's nothing he can do to convince her. With a heavy heart, Caspian nods and turns to go. Before he takes two steps, Rose's voice stops him in his tracks.

"I'm so sorry."

From those words alone, Caspian hears her breaking.

"You cannot blame yourself," he says, turning back around on his heels to stare her down. "All that matters to me is finding that worm and disposing of it. Nothing more."

He does not like the words, but firmness is the only thing that will keep Rose focused. It's much better to have her focus than spiral in her own guilt. But no, that won't be enough. Perhaps he should reassure her too.

"As I swore to Lord Drinian I would not lose his friendship, so too do I refuse to lose yours. Promise me this, Rose," Caspian practically pleads as he kneels beside her. "Promise you will not hold yourself accountable for something you could never have foreseen."

Silence reigns between them, interrupted only by that infernal fountain with the laughing water. When Rose finally speaks, she still won't look at him.

"I'm not leaving until I know where she's headed."

Caspian could argue. But why would he? Any progress is good progress if it brings him closer to avenging his wife and son, and if Rose is stubborn enough to provide that, he will not deny the satisfaction to either of them.

Rose spends the better part of an hour tiptoeing across the spongy ground, seemingly oblivious to the growing wind that brings more than just a chill to the air. Autumn is in its last days, and soon it will be winter. Winter means a much more difficult quest. Caspian knows Trumpkin will harangue him to postpone the venture until the first thaw, but he can't wait that long. Not when he must finish the work his son began.

Sometimes, Rose brightens and a glimmer of gratification shines in her eye. These moments come as she's inching along ever so slowly. Apparently she can still walk to trace the magic, but it tends to stick better into the solid ground and so she can tell where the witch has walked only by, quite literally, following in her footsteps.

Caspian tags along mostly for his own comfort, as he knows his presence will be of little use to his old friend. She can do this work without his presence at all - perhaps it is only out of courtesy and remorse that she allows him to stay and, for all purposes, supervise her.

The sun is crawling toward the sky's zenith when Rose shoots bolt upright from bending over the ground and fixes him in place with a wide-eyed, frantic stare pregnant with hope.

"What is it?" he asks automatically, heart leaping in his chest at the look in her eye. Rose practically quivers with a crazed sort of optimism before him.

"It was not only one who came through here." Rose sprints the few steps between them and takes his shoulders in a death grip. "Two passed this way."

How is that good? Two witches to deal with? Or perhaps Rose means that the snake and the lady are not one in the same being, that they are in fact separate. But why would she be bursting at the seams with news such as that?

Unless….

No. That was impossible. Caspian has accepted his loss in the week since his son's disappearance. Rilian is not coming back because he has joined his mother in Aslan's Country.

"Caspian," Rose whispers, "Her magic is leaving two trails, one potent and one small and yet still strong."

Caspian stares at her much, he supposes, like a man fully out of his wits.

"Did you find Rilian's body?"

Caspian freezes.

No. They hadn't. And at once the hope that sprouted in Rose's eyes takes savage hold of the King of Narnia's heart and burrows deep. He may yet find one piece of his family that he loved so dearly. Rilian could be under a spell.

Rilian is alive.


	5. Unexpected Help

**(Rose POV)**

Caspian stares at me as though I've three heads at first, but I hold firm. The green lady left behind Lilli's body; why would she not do the same for Rilian? Why take the body with her? With the second magical signature, the most logical answer is that there is, in fact, no body.

Frozen in place, Caspian regards me and seems to slowly work through what I'm implying.

"My son is alive?"

Tears of hope well in my eyes as I reply. "I think so."

I release Caspian's shoulders from my frantic grip, having delivered my news. If Rilian is alive, Caspian may yet find him with the witch. It appears as though they left together. The one complication is her magic; it appears that she's cast some sort of enchantment over Rilian.

"We must go at once!" Caspian shouts, jolting me from the diffusing excitement.

"Caspian, wait-"

My friend ignores my words and bounds to where I was standing not minutes ago. "If you can follow her trail, we can find my son! We've not a moment to lose, Rose, come on!"

"Wait-"

"I suppose we must get provisions, but perhaps we can find an owl to-"

"CASPIAN!" At last, I strain my voice loud enough to break through Caspian's frantic excitement. "It's not so simple."

His visage falls a bit, but Caspian remains stubborn and holds on to the hope I've given him. "How so?" he asks in a measured tone.

"There are two magical signatures here," I begin. I'm repulsed by the idea of crushing Caspian's hope, but he has to know the truth.

"On with it, Rose," he urges.

"I think she's enchanted Rilian," I finally admit, as gently as I am able. "I don't know how to break that kind of magic."

Caspian seems completely unfazed, to my utter shock.

"Aslan will help us," he insists. His hand seizes my arm and tries to tug me along. "Now show me where she is headed."

"Caspian-"

"I refuse to wait!" Caspian suddenly shouts, inches from my face. "As your king, I command you to tell me where she is going with my son!"

I don't know what to say. In all the years I've known Caspian, I've never seen him act like this. Perhaps the desperation is too much; perhaps the grief has finally driven him mad.

"Well?" Caspian growls, his grip on my arm tightening to the point of bruising.

Trying to wriggle free, I attempt to get more sensible thoughts in his head. "We should at least get provisions before setting out. And you haven't finished getting all in order for you to depart-"

"I don't _care_! I am going to find my son. Now will you help me or not?" Caspian's eyes glint dangerously, bewildering me with the intensity of the hidden threat. He's never…

"Let. Me. Go."

If I can't talk reason into him, I will at the very least keep him from further bruising my arm. To that end, I make sure to pronounce each word with firm inarguability. I'm not going anywhere with this new, unsettling Caspian until he calms down and returns to his wits.

When Caspian doesn't release me, I try again.

"I am not a rag doll, " I grit out with a fire of my own. "You will release me, Your Majesty, or you will live to regret it."

Caspian shakes his head and glances around with wide eyes, as if waking up from a dream. His gaze flits down to my arm, still encased in his right hand. At once, his fingers loosen and I yank my arm from his grasp.

"I'm sorry," he begins. "I-"

"If you treat me that way again, I will return home and have no part in any of this, nor will I wish to speak to you again until you have regained a sound mind. Do I make myself clear?"

Perhaps my words are a bit harsh, but with a display such as that I don't know if anything else will work. Caspian is king - he cannot afford to lose himself to any extreme emotion, most especially if he is going after a witch.

Caspian looks down at his boots as I back away out of his arm's reach and tries to apologize again.

"I don't know what came over me," he says. "Truly, Rose, I am sorry."

His eyes have lost their wild, demented light, and I think that he is returned to himself. But just in case, I keep my distance though I accept the peace offering.

"You're forgiven," I answer with a sigh. "But you can't allow those sorts of thoughts to rule you, not when you intend to pursue this snake to save your kingdom."

Relief floods me at the subdued bobbing of my friend's head. Finally, some reason.

"It will not happen again."

When I meet Caspian's gaze, I'm overwhelmed by the shame flooding his brown eyes. It speaks of something I don't know of. I want to walk closer to reassure him, but I let my caution win this time. Caution has never let me down - why question it now?

"Let's return to the castle," I murmur. "You can make the final preparations to leave."

With Caspian's agreement, I lead the way back to the horses and we head back to the castle. It's a silent, uncomfortable ride. I can't think of decent conversation, and Caspian is refusing to look at me – if I know him at all, it's guilt.

I am acutely aware my severe words may have been too much, yet I'm not overly inclined to apologize. Caspian will be fine. Soon enough he'll be so embroiled in the quest to rescue Rilian that he'll barely remember the whole thing.

Upon our return to Cair Paravel, we find a surprise that distracts Caspian from his remorse even quicker. Two raggedy children, one boy and one girl, in the strangest clothes I've ever seen stand in the throne room with a white owl the size of a dwarf. The children look miserable, windblown and damp through and through.

"Eustace?" Caspian asks, joy and disbelief blooming on the formerly morose face. He springs from my side and meets the blond boy in a death-grip of a hug.

"By Jove," exclaims the boy over Caspian's shoulder. "Caspian, how old you've gotten!"

Caspian lets out a merry laugh, the first I've heard since all these awful things happened. "What on earth are you doing here?"

"Tu-whoo, tu-whoo!" hoots the owl. "They have been sent by Aslan himself. Oh what a to-do!"

"That's right," pipes up the girl with two braids and a rather drab-colored outfit. "We're to seek the lost prince with you."

At the mention of Aslan, Caspian shoots me a certain 'I-told-you' look and graciously accepts the offer of assistance.

"I welcome your aid, my lady. And what might your name be?"

The girl draws herself to her full height and replies with a façade of pride. "My name's Jill," she answers with her chin high in the air.

"Oh don't be such a sod, Pole," the blond boy – Eustace, I suppose – cuts in with a roll of his eyes. "You're not so important as all that."

"I'll remind you that Aslan told _me_ the four signs, and not you!" Jill fires back with eyes that flash. By looking into her heart, I can see her unease as clear as day. But to her credit, she hides it passably well – though in the process I'm afraid she comes off as a bit of a prick.

"I was hurling over the cliff _you_ pushed me off of!" shouts Eustace. "If you hadn't gone and done that, Aslan would have given us both the signs and blown us both at the same time."

"Scrub, you know very well you were being a right beast, bringing me to the edge like that!"

"I didn't, Pole, you were the one standing at the edge and looking queasy. I told you to step back, but you had to go and lose your head and toss me over, didn't you?"

Squabbles such as this are precisely why I insisted to Darin that we do our utmost to avoid having children. I don't have near the patience necessary to deal with this sort of nonsense day in and day out. Looking at Caspian, he's more bewildered and less annoyed. If anything, he's amused at the verbal barbs flying between the mouths of the children. Well, that's all well and fine for him to be patient, but I've had just about enough. No, I have absolutely had enough.

"That's enough!" I bellow. I highly doubt Aslan sent them to be nuisances. "No more squabbling. Just go and get cleaned up before I send you right back to the Lion himself for a new attitude!"

It occurs to me as they're staring that I've not introduced myself. And what is that tiny noise?

I glance to the side, and there is Caspian, snickering under his beard.

Any other time, I'd demand to know what, precisely, is so amusing, but for the moment my main interest is making sure those two children don't start at it again, or at the very least that they save it for when I'm not in the room.

"Is that Rose?" Eustace whispers behind his hand to Caspian. His attempt at being discrete is, quite frankly, ridiculous.

"In the flesh," Caspian answers, his amusement temporarily under control.

"She's just like you described. Very prickly."

"And I will be even more so if you continue that infernal jabbering around me again," I interject with a scowl and a quirk of my eyebrow.

"Well, it's nice to see a fellow lady taking charge," says the girl. There's that attitude that I can't stand again.

"Caspian, for the love of Aslan send someone to get them settled or I will school them the same way I have schooled you in the past," I grind out through gritted teeth.

Caspian's smirk returns at my shortness, but he does have the owl – Glimfeather, he calls him – take this Jill and Eustace to rooms for a good bath. Lion knows they could use one.

The moment the oaken doors shut behind the trio, Caspian turns to me still thoroughly entertained.

"Your patience is thin today," he says, almost as an open dare for me to argue back and prove his point.

"There's a very good reason I have not had a child, and you've just seen it," I retort as calmly as I am able in the wake of such annoyance. "I don't have the patience for their quarrelling."

Caspian begins walking, the red carpet quieting his footsteps, and smiles outright.

"Perhaps that is best, though I think any child of yours would learn the value of silence rather swiftly."

"I'll not be testing the theory." I fall into step beside him with a barely-contained grimace. "But enough of that. Do you think Aslan really did send them?"

"It wouldn't be the first time," he answers. His next words are quiet and relieved. "Aslan has heard my prayers."

I smile at the change in him. These two children have brought back a bit of his youth, and for that reason alone I will find a way to tolerate them. Perhaps those two mosquitos will prove of some use aside from buzzing about to annoy after all.

"When they return from their cleaning, we have to find out about those four signs. If Aslan told them more about Rilian, it might be quicker than simply tracking the witch. That could take weeks."

Caspian nods, clearly pleased. "I believe they will be a great help."

Lion forgive my next words, but in my defense they cannot, entirely, be helped.

"Only if they refrain from fighting every other minute. If they cannot, I've half a mind to send them to the witch gift-wrapped myself." Grumbling comes with the ease of a lifetime of practice, and it relieves some of the tension that's built up from this morning's rattling events.

"Now Rose, you mustn't say that," Caspian chides.

"I still stand by it. But if they help us find your son I will find a way to bear them." In spite of my mood, I send a small smile up at my friend. I am, after all, here to help him.

Appreciation glistens in his eyes, stifling the sharp regret that wells when my hand returns to my side.

I excuse myself on the pretense of doing some research in the library on ancient magical beings, but in all honestly I want some distance. Caspian's mood is almost the opposite of this morning, yet I'm not entirely comfortable after that heated exchange. I know I can't hide that forever.

Still, to keep up pretenses I go to the library and pull out the first book on ancient magic that I find. My mind wanders within minutes and I replay Caspian's words, the dangerous gleam in his eyes as he practically dragged me to the witch's signature. In all our years as friends, I can't say I've seen anything close to that look before.

Was it the remnants of the witch's obviously powerful magic playing with his mind? Or perhaps it truly was just the grief and the desperation that latched onto the kernel of hope I offered. For a moment, I wish I hadn't said anything.

I lift my head from the words about the White Witch that I'm barely processing to stare at the bookshelves as if they hold the right answer. Is that cherry wood? Perhaps mahogany? The shelves are rather dark, rich in color and stuffed to the brim with intricately decorated books.

No, of course I did the right thing by telling Caspian about his son. Had I not, we wouldn't know to look for him…but then again, Caspian was set on finding the snake anyway so I could have said nothing on the chance that Rilian is killed before we find her. At least then, Caspian's hope wouldn't stand the chance of being crushed.

But in that split second, I was so caught up in relief and joy that I couldn't help blurting it out. Why wouldn't I want Caspian to know that he may have a piece of his family left? If only I'd been more prepared for his reaction. Moreover, I truly don't think the green lady will kill Rilian. She killed Lilliandil on sight; I think that if she meant to end Narnia's Crown Prince, she'd have done so already. No, she must have a greater plan for him, though I can't say what it could be. She could be planning to have him marry a Calormen tarkheena for all I know.

Her plans, whatever they are, give me even more unease. She may have twisted Rilian so completely beyond recognition that seeing the enchantment's work will be even worse for Caspian than if Rilian were dead altogether. Hope always accompanies the worst torture.

Shaking my head, I slam the book shut and stop that train of thought right in its tracks. I shouldn't rehash a decision that I can't take back. Caspian knows there is a chance for his son, and that's that. I can't change my words now, and even if I could I'm not sure I would. Were I in Caspian's shoes, I would never forgive him if he kept something like that from me.

It is Caspian himself who comes to get me once the two children have been cleaned. His idea is to feed them lunch while we learn the full tale from them.

"It will help keep their mouths occupied," he says with a smile in reply to my pursed lips.

I rise from my perch at the window seat, return the book to its shelf, and follow Caspian from the library with a rather dubious face.

"Was Rilian ever this impossible?"

I regret my words the moment they leave my mouth. Yet, Caspian doesn't react as I fear; he is only a little saddened and answers without too much unease.

"No. He was mischievous, but never quite so prone to quarreling."

Should I apologize for bringing him up? Perhaps, yes. I open my mouth to do just that, but Caspian hushes me before the words come tumbling out.

"Rose, it's alright. He is not lost forever."

I do hope he's right.

Thankfully, by now we've reached the dining hall where Eustace and Jill await. Unsurprisingly, they're at it again.

"What was that you said about keeping their mouths busy?" I mutter to Caspian as a particularly loud insult from Jill calling Eustace a perfect beast echoes through the hall.

"The food is not here yet."

I'm startled to find Caspian...smiling. He looks happy, content even. The shadows of late are almost gone from his face. Is the arrival of two human children so important to him?

"Wait a moment, wasn't Eustace on the _Dawn Treader_ with you?" I vaguely remember Caspian mentioning the boy during his first visit to Tanssi Kuun when he got back from the voyage. If I'm not mistaken, Eustace is the one who was turned into a dragon.

"The very same."

At once, even though I'm considering the ramifications of locking the quarrelling duo in the dungeon for the night to scare the irritability right out of them, I'm glad they're here. Caspian needs this reminder of days past.

"Regardless," I answer as my patience begins to stretch thin in spite of myself. "Would you _please_ make them shut up?"

Aunt would shake her head at that, but I can't help but think even gentle Aunt would understand my sentiment with these two children. They simply don't stop!

Caspian clears his throat first. Jill and Eustace carry on, oblivious. He does so again, and louder this time. How do those two not hear the king of Narnia clearing his throat? And I heard such good things about Eustace. Perhaps he needs to spend more time as a dragon…

"That's enough!" At last, Caspian raises his voice.

The two guilty parties stop and glance at Caspian almost sheepishly.

"Sorry," Eustace mutters. Oh, but I'm not sure he's entirely sorry, not with that glare he sends Jill's way. Charming, those two. Really.

"Quarrel later if you must, but do wait until Rose is out of earshot."

I shoot a look of plain gratitude Caspian's way as he finishes the reprimand. Thank the Lion he's at least gotten them quiet for now. And before Jill and Eustace can start talking again, I quickly take my seat at the table and cut right to what we need to know.

"Earlier you mentioned four signs from Aslan. What did you mean?"

I don't miss Caspian's well-hidden smirk as he sits down beside me. He's still amused at my inherent distaste for annoying children.

"Well," begins Jill as she seats herself and takes the napkin from the table. She pats the fabric down primly on her lap. "We've gotten the first one done."

"Finding an old friend," Eustace cuts in with a smile directed at Caspian.

Jill sends Eustace a glare cold enough to freeze the summer sun and continues. I'm quite sure that the _only_ reason she doesn't start going at Eustace again is because I'm sitting right here.

"Secondly, we're to journey north and out of Narnia to a…oh goodness, what was it?" For a moment, Jill looks positively distressed and turns about three shades paler. But when she speaks again, her color returns. "A ruined city, that's right! We're to journey north to a ruined city of the Giants."

"And these directions were given to you by Aslan himself?" There is no I-told-you-so in Caspian's gaze now, only wonder. It's been many years since he saw Aslan, after all.

Jill nods, looking quite pleased with herself, and continues. "And once we reach the city, we've got to find an old stone with writing on it, and do what the writing tells us."

"He didn't mention where in the city the stone would be?" I ask.

Cities are large places, and a Giant city must be unfathomably huge. How would we go about finding one bit of writing on one little stone? And that's another thing: what is normal writing to a Giant might not be quite readable to us, to say the least.

Jill shakes her head. "He didn't. Oh, and the fourth! We're to know Prince Rilian by this: that he'll be the first in our travels to ask us something in Aslan's name."

"That one seems a bit odd," supplies Eustace. "After all, Caspian, I should think you'd know your own son."

"Perhaps there is some difficulty in our journey that Aslan has seen," Caspian answers with heaviness in his voice again. "He would not ask it of you were it not of vital importance."

Difficulty indeed. Perhaps the enchantment over Rilian is worse than I thought.


	6. The Quest Begins

**(Caspian POV)**

The moment Eustace and Jill have shared all they know, Caspian knows he has to excuse himself to finish his preparations for Narnia. He still has yet to inform the council. He blames himself for his negligence; dealing with the council is still one of his least favorite activities. Caspian knows well what their response to his quest will be: concern and indignation. Denial, primarily. They will attempt to lecture him – their king of over two decades now – about his duty to his country and to let search parties be sent out to seek Rilian rather than his own personage.

Though Caspian will never admit it to Rose, the squabbling between Eustace and Jill has taken a toll on his patience. They are only children; he must remind himself of that repeatedly. When last he saw Eustace, he was many years younger and much closer to childhood himself. And now he is a grown man with a grieving heart, and a piece of him simply can't fathom why Aslan would send children to help him find his son.

As Caspian excuses himself from the table as politely as he can, apologizing silently to Rose for leaving her on her own with the two, he reminds himself over and over again that Aslan has a purpose for all things...even the dark happenings of late. There has to be some reason for it, some deeper meaning that he is missing.

Caspian schools himself into his calm, kingly visage as he makes his way to the council chambers. Fortunately, he had made the call to gather them yesterday and so he avoided wasting an entire day waiting for them to arrive. Striding through the halls of Cair Paravel, Caspian prepares for what he is to tell them. He has driven many a point home over the years, but this is different. This is the closest to his heart that any council matter has been. It is not so easy to remain detached and authoritative when the matter concerns him so intimately.

The door thuds open, and Caspian strides into the room and takes his seat at the head of the long table. It's Telmarine tradition to have lordly seats along the edge of the room with an open space in the middle for any speakers, but Caspian prefers sitting at a table. Not only is it fitting to depart from that tradition with the addition of the Narnian council members, but he often brings notes to the meetings and it's much easier to keep them together on a table than in his lap.

Many of the lords are here already, and each of them stand and bow their respect as Caspian enters. He acknowledges their greetings with a gracious nod and sits down with no hint of his inner unrest upon his face. He has always done his utmost to present a strong visage to these lords, as custom and common sense deemed necessary. That will not change any time soon.

Ordinarily, Caspian would make pleasant conversation with some of the lords as they await the arrival of the remainder of their number, but today he has no such concerns for mingling. He is focused solely on communicating what he intends to do without leaving room for argument.

When the last lord has filtered in, Caspian begins the session.

"My lords," he begins, with a strong voice and an even stronger will. "I have called you here today to inform you of my plans to eliminate this new threat to Narnia."

The lords shift in their seats; they know he's about to say something drastic and that he won't be talked down.

"I will be leaving Cair Paravel on the morrow to seek the serpent and my son."

Shocked murmurs break out throughout the room. Caspian remembers that he neglected to inform them that Rilian was, in fact, alive.

"With the help of a dear friend, I have learned that Rilian is not lost to us. The Great Lion himself has sent aid to me. I will be joined by three companions on my quest."

Caspian pauses to allow them to speak if they wish. Today, he would rather deal with the objections as soon as they come up, for if he waits until the end of his announcement and tries to deal with all of them at once, he will surely lose a piece of his temper.

"Your Majesty," begins Lord Argoz. "Not one of us present here could fault you for this quest. But I must entreat you to think of this country. Without the Crown Prince, you are the last rightful king."

Caspian truly listens to Lord Argoz, in no small part because he is one of the Seven Lords of Telmar that he set voyaged to find. But even the Telmarine lord loyal to his father cannot change his mind.

"Lord Argoz," Caspian replies with all due respect. "I must assure you that I have given the wellbeing of Narnia every thought and consideration. Yet I cannot leave Rilian to the clutches of a witch without taking every effort to free him. He is my son."

A hushed silence falls over the council room. Some of the lords nod their agreement, and some refrain from showing their opinion as of yet. Caspian chooses to continue.

"I have already arranged for the Lord Trumpkin to handle the affairs of Narnia in my absence, to be assisted by the wisdom of General Glenstorm and the Lord Drinian. Together with this honored body, Narnia will be as safe as I can make her."

A brief pause. Caspian hardens his gaze.

"Perhaps," says the faun Ornus, "Your Majesty should send another. There are a great many knights who would be glad of the honor."

Caspian stiffens, though he knew to expect this. Well, not quite; he expected it from the remaining Telmarine lords. Not from a Narnian. Had they forgotten that he rode at the head of every war?

"A king should not hide behind stone walls," Caspian replies with a sort of forced calm. "I will seek my son and the worm with the aid that the Great Lion himself has sent."

Stunned murmurs sweep through the room. Perhaps Caspian should have mentioned the arrival of the children sooner, but in truth he was preoccupied with crafting his rebuttal to the suggestion that he send a search party in his place.

"Aslan has sent aid to us?" Ornus is the first to speak, eyes wide and shining with hope.

Caspian affirms this with a smile. "Yes. Two children He has sent, one of them Eustace – the cousin of the Kings and Queens of Old, if you recall."

"You intend to bring children with you, Your Majesty?" asks Lord Pesbian, a second cousin of the departed General Glozelle. Lord Pesbian questions Caspian more openly than some of the others, though with great respect still.

"I do not question the judgment of Aslan," Caspian reprimands as gently as he can. "They will accompany me on my journey northward, as will an old friend of mine from years past."

To this day, Caspian never calls Rose by name to the council. It was at her request; though he had rooted out those responsible for her arrest quickly and decisively, she didn't want to take chances and he had little ground to refuse her the comfort.

Silence reigns in the room, enough of it to make even the smallest creak or grumble painfully audible. Caspian waits patiently. Waiting is a staple in any council session, and most especially in this one.

"We wish Your Majesty all good fortune and the blessing of the Lion," says Lord Revilian, another of the Seven Lost Lords who returned to Narnia. Most others in the room echo his sentiment, and those who do not echo it at the very least don't object.

Caspian lets out the breath he didn't know he was holding. With the blessing of the council, all will be in order at last. With a gracious smile, Caspian thanks them for their well-wishes and dismisses the council meeting with renewed hope.

* * *

Upon the coming of evening, Caspian finds himself confronted with a peeved Rosamar.

"I know why you left so abruptly," Rose begins with her hands perched on her hips and a scowl adorning her face. "But by the Lion, Caspian, have you any idea how impossible those two can be?"

Caspian can't help an amused smile as he closes the door of his study behind him and approaches Rosamar with the most penitent expression he can muster.

"You have my sincere apologies. I could not delay the council meeting another minute."

Rose quirks an eyebrow at his barely-disguised entertainment at her annoyance. In spite of himself, Caspian isn't sorry. It lightens his heart to be around such liveliness as is brought by Eustace, Jill, and Rose's disenchantment with their antics.

"Accepted," she grumbles nonetheless, falling into step beside him as they walk down the hallway, torches burning on the walls. Evening comes quicker and earlier by the day. Already, dinnertime is beginning to fall after sunset.

"Perhaps you only happen upon Eustace and Jill when they happen to be arguing?" he offers, though he knows it will earn him another scowl.

Indeed it does. The pursing of his lips in a poor attempt to hide a grin earns him a deeper-set one than usual to boot.

"I don't particularly care _why_ they are always fighting," Rose states flatly. "The little I require is that they cease to do so upon my arrival."

Caspian tells himself that he should not, under any circumstances, tell Eustace to purposely start a tiff whenever he knows Rose to be on her way. It would make the journey north rather trying for her, after all, and Caspian has little wish to make her unhappy when she traveled across the country to offer her help.

"I'm not sure if I properly expressed my gratitude to you," Caspian blurts out. Rose stops him with a hand on his shoulder.

"You never need to," she interrupts, stopping in her tracks to stop him with firm hands. "Caspian, how could I do anything else? You helped me immeasurably years ago; what kind of ingrate would I be if I couldn't do the same for you?"

Caspian is, in short…speechless. His heart swells at her loyalty and he thanks Aslan to have a friend such as her.

"And besides," she continues, releasing his shoulders and suddenly avoiding his eyes. "Lilli was dear to me as well."

He'd almost forgotten; he'd been so focused on avenging his wife that it repeatedly slipped his mind how close Rose and Lilli were. Yet, Caspian knows she will brush off any offered comfort on his part. It is just her way.

"Nevertheless, I thank you." Caspian knows this makes Rose a little uncomfortable, so he takes her arm into the crook of his own and leads them down the hall to dinner.

* * *

Departing early in the morning is, unsurprisingly, not a venture Jill and Eustace express their support for. Caspian does have to commend them on their self-control, however. They hardly complain aloud, though they can barely speak a full sentence without being interrupted by a yawn. Jill seems to be worse off than Eustace.

"Bless you both for being quiet, for once," Rose mutters as she joins the party in the throne room, squinting against the sunlight flooding in through the stained-glass windows.

Neither Eustace nor Jill offer a comment in return, though Caspian can't quite tell if it's because they didn't hear her or they are deliberately ignoring the jab. Himself, he's of the mind that the early hour doesn't agree with Rose either, but Caspian is wise enough to keep his mouth shut on that subject.

Without much further ado, the party turns to Glenstorm, Trumpkin, and Lord Drinian. The trio who will be in charge of Narnia during the quest insisted in seeing them off, and Caspian could only encourage them.

"The Lion guide you, Majesty." Glenstorm begins the goodbyes gravely. His solemn tone reminds all of them of the seriousness of the endeavor. Caspian instantly thinks of Rilian as he accepts the General's good wish.

"And you as well, General Glenstorm," Caspian returns. The two clasp hands in farewell before Caspian moves to Trumpkin.

"I suppose I'll be eating those biscuits on my own," grumbles the dwarf.

"I am sure Ornus would be more than happy to take tea with you in my place," Caspian says with a small smile. Indeed, he already made the arrangements for such. The faun's gentle nature would be a good offset to the dwarf's gruff exterior.

"Eh? Who's that?" Trumpkin is beginning to show his age in the form of slight hearing difficulties. Most especially with unfamiliar terms. "Ortus?"

"Ornus," Caspian says a little louder. "Ornus will take tea with you."

"Well, that's all good then," the dwarf grudgingly concedes. "Very good indeed."

Caspian shakes his head and moves to stand before Lord Drinian, who has been conducting a thorough study of either his shoes or the polished stone tiles beneath them.

"Lord Drinian," says Caspian with compassion in his voice.

"Your Majesty," acknowledges the former captain of the _Dawn Treader_. "Safe travels. May the Lion be ever at your side."

"And at yours, my friend." Caspian clasps the hand of Lord Drinian tight and leans in to whisper one final message. "Forgiveness is the right of all men."

Caspian knows that the final step for Drinian is to forgive himself. Caspian has forgiven him already, though he sometimes has to do it all over again in spite of his best intentions. Aslan too will forgive, if only Drinian allows it.

The Lord Drinian acknowledges his king's words with a tiny nod. When Caspian returns to the younger trio awaiting him and looks back, it seems to him that Drinian's shoulders are not quite so bent in sorrow.

It is a good sight to leave with. And so the quest begins.

* * *

"Shouldn't we be stopping for lunch soon?" comes the timid voice of Jill Pole around noon, right as the party is coming near that fateful meadow.

Caspian considers this, but his heart tugs him onward. Yet how can he refuse such a simple request?

"Here." Rose's voice interrupts his torn thoughts.

When he glances over, his friend is handing the uncharacteristically quiet Jill an apple.

"You can eat as we walk, yes?"

This is the kindest Caspian has seen Rose towards either of the youngsters, and it lifts his spirit a bit. He smiles his gratitude the next time she happens to glance his way.

The first day of their journey has little excitement. Aside from Jill shifting her pack about on her back and creating a bit of a rustling sort of ruckus, they all get on quite well. By the day's end they come upon the Northern Marshes. They will spend the night here with the glum-faced Marshwiggles for company and start off for the River Shribble and Ettinsmoor in the morning at first light.

"Well, I daresay this isn't so frightful," declares Eustace as they enter the marshes.

"Oh no," starts Jill in a voice that said she thought exactly the opposite. "Nothing like it."

Caspian glances over at Rose and finds her bristling and obviously expecting the first spat of the quest to break out right then and there. She seems to be biting her tongue against a preemptive retort, but thankfully a gangly figure appears from the fog covering the swamp and interrupts the whole thing before it begins.

"I say," comes a droning voice. "Four travelers, and at this hour. Bandits, I shouldn't wonder."

"With a good will, honest Marsh-wiggle," Caspian calls out before anyone else can say something to prompt a long enumeration of negativity from the creature. "We are mere travelers headed north and seeking lodging for the night."

"Lodging, is it? Well come along then. Not that you'll find the lodging at all pleasant. Dreadfully unsuited for anyone but a Marsh-wiggle. You'll be wet through by morning, I shouldn't wonder."

Caspian smiles fondly. Marsh-wiggles are notoriously downtrodden creatures with a nurtured knack for finding the most pessimistic result and setting their expectations all on it.

"What a wet blanket," comes Eustace's not-so-quiet whisper. Caspian supposes it was meant for Jill, though it's quite easy to hear from up here with the Marsh-wiggle.

Out of politeness and to keep Eustace and Jill from saying anything else ill-advised, Caspian asks the Marsh-wiggle's name.

"Puddleglum," comes the appropriately glum reply. "Though not much use in telling you that, is there? You've forgotten it at once, I shouldn't doubt it."

Just to prove him wrong, Caspian makes a point of addressing the Marsh-wiggle when he ushers them into a small, warm, and rather cozy wigwam. "We are grateful for the lodgings, Master Puddleglum," he says with a pointed glance. "Your hospitality is much appreciated."

"By the Lion!" exclaims Puddleglum at once, as the wavery light of the lantern falls just right upon Caspian's face. "Your Majesty, what brings you to the marshes? Nasty weather this, and no royal lodging, that's the truth."

"Peace, good Puddleglum," Caspian says with a smile. "The dark hides a face well."

"Why didn't he say where we're going?" Jill's whisper is much, much quieter than Eustace's; Caspian can only just barely hear it.

"I don't think Aslan told you to go blathering it to just anyone," Rose whispers back. Caspian almost tells her to ease up, but he realizes there wasn't any bite to the retort. It was merely common sense to keep Jill from asking any more obvious questions.

"Yes, well," Puddleglum says, "A good night to you, then. Safe travels, Your Majesty. Though with the luck of late, I suppose you'll never get that far. You'll be killed by tomorrow's sunset, I shouldn't wonder."

"Thank you," Caspian quickly cuts in, determined to interrupt the whole depressing tirade before it gets much further. "And a good night to you as well."

Puddleglum leaves the wigwam with a long-faced smile and takes the lantern with him, leaving the four in almost complete darkness.

"Well," Eustace says, voice echoing a bit in the dark wigwam – that was not, prior to Puddleglum's prediction, very cold or wet or generally unpleasant at all, "That's a lovely start to the journey."

"Have you met a Marsh-wiggle before?" Jill asks. Caspian really isn't sure whom she's talking to, nor does he think anyone else does. "Rose," she adds.

Rose replies in the negative, "I can't say I have. I've never been to the marshes before. Caspian's the only one here who has."

"Wait now," Eustace suddenly buts in. "Was that on your way to the Giant War?"

Caspian is a little shocked that Eustace remembered that detail, since he spent the majority of his beginning time on the _Dawn Treader_ sulking about and generally avoiding most everyone on the ship. Nevertheless, Caspian answers without giving away his sentiment.

"It was," he says mildly. "The Marsh-wiggles do much of the water-related work in Narnia. They helped build the _Dawn Treader,_ you know."

Eustace seems mildly surprised by this new information. He, no doubt, had thought on first impression that Marsh-wiggles were a very private people who didn't get out into the world beyond the marshes much at all. Caspian thought that too, until they offered to help ensure the _Dawn Treader_ was as sound a vessel as she could be.

"And they did a fine job, as you may well remember," Caspian can't help but add, smiling at the old memories of happier times.

"Alright," Rose cuts in rather sternly. "We've a long day of traveling tomorrow, and it'll be all the more unpleasant if we're cranky and under-rested." Her tone brokers no argument, and no sooner have her words echoed in the wigwam than the shuffles of the children bedding down echo too.

Caspian wonders that she hasn't yet had children, in spite of what she told him about her level of patience. She has that motherly tone down to a tee. He whispers as much to her as he searches out his own corner of the wigwam, but he gets a much simpler answer than he expected.

Rose's garments whisper, most probably from a shrug of her shoulders. "We aren't ready for that," she says as if it's the simplest and most obvious thing in all the world. "I've no time for children of my own."

Caspian is surprised still, but he knows from how she – literally – shrugs off the question that he had best leave it be. She is likely as busy with Tanssi Kuun as ever. Even so, Caspian is a little sorry she's not had at least one child. He thinks it would be force to be reckoned with. Perhaps it would be hot-headed like her, with Darin's patience to temper the fiery tendencies.

All at once, Caspian finds the words are spilling from his mouth before he can stop them.

"It would be a special child, to have you as a mother," is the phrase that falls from his lips. Caspian braces himself for a vehement tongue-lashing. Though Rose has mellowed over the years, she's never afraid to push back if he brings up the wrong thing.

"I have enough on my hands with…" Rose seems to suddenly remember that it's not just the two of them in the room. "Well, you know. And it's my choice anyway."

There it is. The warning of hostility in her voice is clearer than glass. Caspian had best leave it alone, and not speak another word of it.

"Well," he begins with an awkward clearing of his throat. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight."


	7. Change of Plans

**(Rose POV)**

I wake up in the middle of the night courtesy of the Eustace and Caspian's infernal snoring. Eustace's snorts, I recognize from Caspian's anecdotes of his pig-like noises during the voyage. And Caspian, well, he's napped enough times in Tanssi Kuun that I know his cacophonous drivel by heart. He didn't used to wake the very dead with his nightly serenades, but as the years have gone by it's gotten nearly unbearable. I consider myself fully justified in leaving the warmth of the wigwam in favor of the damp marshy air.

Goosebumps pop up on my arms the moment the wigwam flaps close behind me. I almost turn back around as the frigid autumn air nips at my skin, but even from out here the snoring is plain as day. I don't know how Jill is managing to sleep through that racket, but bless her for it.

Shaking my head, I squelch away from the wigwam until the snores fade away, leaving only the whisper of wind on water and the occasional hum of reeds brushing in the breeze. I open a pocket on my belt and release a faerie ribbon into the air. It was their parting gift to me. Seeing the multi-colored reminder of home brings a tentative smile to my lips. It dances on ahead, leaving me little choice but to follow the spirited wisp away from my friends and into the night.

In spite of my slight irritation at the boys for waking me up, I'm glad for the time to myself. Something tells me it's going to be scarce in the coming weeks, and I can't expect to get by on a few hours of sleep every night if I'm to be of much help. As I've gotten older, I just can't escape with an hour or two and be of useful coherency the next day like I used to. It's made my visits to Tanssi Kuun less frequent, but I stay longer when I'm there.

The ribbon floating in front of me keeps the homesickness at bay at it moves, sometimes wrapping around my wrist and tugging me along and sometimes bobbing along several paces in front of me. The faeries. A lump rises in my throat; I miss them already.

This is not by any measure the longest I've been away from them, but I am well aware that it will soon become so. I trust Darin as much as I trust myself to look after them, but I can't help worrying. After all, if that snake left by another door, it could have gotten back in the same way. I've no way of knowing.

Perhaps Darin will think of that, and perhaps he'll search the entirety of Tanssi Kuun to see if it's possible…but I don't know for sure, and I'm not likely to see him any sooner than I'll see the faeries. Something about this distance just doesn't feel right.

My ribbon companion interrupts my worrying with another stronger pull on my wrist, but this time it doesn't let go.

"What is it?" I ask. I know it's not, strictly speaking, a living creature, but it's acting like one.

My answer is another insistent yank. I stumble along, confused, with the squishing of the marsh under my shoes punctuating every step. Does this ribbon know something I don't?

I follow the determined little thing for what must be close to an hour or perhaps more, with no way of finding my way back to the wigwam. I'm not familiar with the marshes, and I wouldn't know one reed or strip of mud from the next in the daylight, let alone in the middle of the night.

After a little while longer, the mud under my shoes gives way to a more solid ground. We must have been near the edge of the marsh to have gotten out of it so quickly. Well, in a matter of hours.

"Where are you taking me?" I whisper to the pulsing light dragging me along.

A strike of urgency surges up my arm and stabs at my heart. Gasping, I stop in my tracks and clutch at my chest, breathless at the overwhelming sense of danger scorching along my nerves. I'm moments away from cursing at my ribbon guide, but the moment it pulls me forward I understand.

The witch's signature shines clear and deadly in my mind.

My ribbon guide loosens from my wrist and hovers before me, solemn and sad. Is this what it was trying to tell me? Magic can sense other magic, I suppose...

I step closer to my guide, and sure enough I stay on the witch's trail. Another step, and the same. A glance up at the sky pricks my heart with fear. West. She headed west. Not north, west. Or perhaps west then north? Aslan wouldn't be mistaken. He never said which north, did he? He could have meant westward-north just as easily as eastward-north.

If she stayed to the west, that puts Telmara right in her path.

My blood runs colder than ice in my veins. I'm almost overtaken by the urge to sprint to that city, to the home I've made with Darin just to see that he's alright. After all, what would the witch want with Telmara?

Unless…

Quicker than the thought can finish, I whip around and race back the way I came, breath clouding before my lips and heart hammering against my ribs. Dawn is nearing, but if I hurry I can find my way back to the wigwam and tell Caspian that I have to go west and I have to go _now_ because oh it's not just him she's destroying, it's all of us. The three of us who thwarted her in the fields of Tanssi Kuun those years ago.

The ribbon flits ahead of me and takes my wrist once more, and I whisper my thanks as it tugs me back the way we came. Even running at this pace, I have well over an hour, perhaps more than two, before I can hope to reach the wigwam.

An odd combination of soothing calm and insistent haste comes to me from the ribbon. It's not so surprising that it knows exactly what I need, but even this piece of Tanssi Kuun can't stop the fear hammering away at my skull.

Mud flies up from my feet as I reenter the marsh, painting the hem of my skirt and sticking to my legs. Oh if I'm too late…

My feet don't slow, but at once I grasp onto a desperate straw of fool's hope. Perhaps she only went west to avoid the searches Caspian would have sent out if the council got its way. Perhaps she simply went west to…to…to meet with an old friend, or perhaps to take the path we wouldn't expect, or perhaps to go through a better part of the Giant territory. She needn't go to Telmara; there's nothing for her there.

It's a fool's chance, but it's still a chance. After all, how could she know that we stayed in the city? How would she know that we didn't move someplace else?

Dawn breaks just as I skid to a stop in front of the wigwam. My ribbon guide releases my wrist and slips back into my pocket, hidden as if it were never there. Snores resonate from in front of me, stopping me in my tracks with the sheer normality. How can they sleep when—?

They don't know, they don't know and I have to remember that or I know I'll start screaming. I just have to explain things, that's all. Just explain, just tell them that I'm going to Telmara because the witch went that way and I'm just checking to see if she took a detour.

My hand is inches from the wigwam flaps when I freeze. Tell them? Tell them what, exactly? I don't know anything for sure. With how Caspian's been acting lately, how can I expect him to understand?

My fingers tingle with the ugly realization. I can't. Caspian's been off-kilter ever since we figured out Rilian is alive. Before that, I know he would have understood and told me to return when I could. But now? Now I have no way of knowing whether he'll accept that I have to go home to make sure Darin and Sima and Nina are safe or if he'll grow angry and think I'm abandoning him. I don't want to think like this, but what choice do I have? I have to go home, and once I see that everything is fine then I can rejoin Caspian in his quest.

A pang of guilt clenches around my heart as I slip inside the wigwam on my tiptoes. Those infernal snores that irked me so much earlier in the night now seem innocent, trusting. I set my jaw and think once more of that witch's trace left behind, of Darin, of Sima and Nina. I can't change my mind now, I can't risk not getting there quickly enough and finding something I couldn't bear.

Bending down, I search my pack for paper and a quill. I don't think I brought any, but I have to check. My shaking hands rifle through the necessities, past the dried meats and breads and extra pair of shoes. I search and search and come up with nothing. No paper, no scrap of anything to write on, and nothing to write with. What now? I could look in Caspian's bag, but I don't like the idea of going through his things.

A glance over my shoulder provides me with an alternate solution. I don't like it, but what else can I do?

On silent feet, I pad over to Jill. I still have no idea how she slept the night with these two snoring away. It must not have been a very deep sleep, however; she wakes easily when I jostle her shoulder.

A yawn prevents her from saying anything straight up, thank Aslan. I put my fingers to my lips at once and jerk my head at the door. Confusion crinkles her forehead, but she does as I say without making a ruckus. Well, too much. Her foot catches on Eustace's stray leg flung out into the middle of the floor and he grunts in between snores, but he doesn't wake. I let out the breath I couldn't help holding and ease back outside with Jill on my heels.

"What?" she whispers through a yawn, as soon as the flap closes behind her.

"I need a favor," I reply. My palms bead with sweat. "I'm going away for a little while, but I'll join up with you again soon. I need you to tell Caspian that for me."

A morning breeze whisks by, ruffling our clothes. Jill shivers, clutching at her arms.

"Where are you going?"

For a heartbeat I'm not sure how much to say. I won't have to worry about Caspian trying to follow me, but I may well have to contend with his annoyance when I reappear.

"I have to check on something important. Back home." I can't help but question my judgment the moments the words have left my mouth, but they're said now and I can't change them. If I find that things aren't fine, he'll be able to ask a more pointed question. But that was vague enough that I can make all the excuses I need if...if things are worse than I'm hoping.

"All right."

Jill stifles another yawn, leaving me to marvel. I didn't expect her to agree so easily. Perhaps they're not so bad in the mornings after all, the children.

I smile. "Tell him I'll meet you at the Giants' bridge in two weeks' time." I shoulder my pack and start off, fully intending to use the faeries' ribbon as a guide when I can, once I'm out of sight. "Thank you," I say to Jill.

The young girl waves back, miraculously without yawning. "Good luck, with that important thing."

I wave back before striding into the marsh the way I came minutes ago, ignoring the guilt still lurking in the back of my mind.

* * *

Alone, I make much better time than I could have hoped to with the others. I can run for as long as I can manage, and walk until my legs ache and cramp the rest of the time. That first day I don't stop for anything, not even the night. I keep up that schedule for three days before my body is so tired I have to give in to the need to rest. And so after three and a half days of endless, tireless traveling, I find myself lying awake, staring at the stars and trying to get the sleep I need.

It won't come.

My legs practically gave out on me earlier, so I know I can't push on. I have to rest, but how? How can I when that snake's trail is still fresh under my boots and Telmara is only days away? When Darin is there and the witch is ahead of me and what if she _is_ trying to hurt the people I love?

Just the thought of losing any of them – Darin, Sima, Nina – and I can't breathe. I haven't felt this kind of weight on my chest since I was first fighting for Tanssi Kuun.

Oh Lion, the pendant.

Mine is safe around my neck as always, but Darin's? If the witch finds him, would she know to—

I leap to my feet in an instant. I don't care that my legs can barely move, I can't wait! I can't waste time trying to find rest that won't come when it's not just my husband, the people I love, but the entire world I'm responsible for too.

My knees tremble with my first step. I grit my teeth and ignore it. Another step. Lion, I should rest.

But I can't until I know that everything I care about most is safe. My body screams otherwise, limbs ready to buckle under me all sense of urgency be damned. On my third step, my legs crumble beneath my weight and I tumble back to the ground, autumn leaves crunching under my body. I spit a stray stem from my mouth and try not to scream. I have to get to the city, and I have to get there soon; for Lion's sake, why won't my body cooperate?

"Get up," I whisper. The sound rattles the edges of the leaves beneath my face, but my arms flop uselessly. "Get up." My rasp helps no more the second time. Again I try to force my arms under me, and again they buckle and sink back into the leaves.

If only Darin were here. He always could bring out that extra kernel of strength in me. I refuse to think about whether I've already used that extra bit in the previous days' frantic hike.

"Resting won't help," I grit past teeth chattering with exhaustion. "Get up."

A moment of hope, at last. My arms flex under my shoulders and hold. I try pushing, praying for some miracle that will get me on my way faster.

This time when my arms fail me, I do scream. Yet even that it half its strength, jerking through the air with barely enough volume to wake the night creatures. So I can't even voice my frustration now? Perfect.

A tugging, pulsing sort of sensation tickling at my hip jolts my attention away from self-pity. Fumbling, my fingers find their way to the pouch there and release the faeries' ribbon into the night air. The light is a welcome, welcome sight. It's almost calming.

All of the ribbon's previous franticness has gone, and instead it glides to and fro in front of me. I can't help but follow its movements with my eyes. Right, a little to the left, then a dip downward, then a swoop toward the sky. It's dancing for me, dancing to lull me…

I'm lost to the world of dreams before I can finish the thought.

* * *

Waking the next morning is a painful, slow process. I have little choice but to rest well into the day, past noon even. Sleep has reminded me what I might find in Telmara: the witch, the snake. If I'm to be ready for her, I can't be moments from keeling over.

After my rest, it's back on the road, never mind the aches and pangs in every muscle. I make sure to rest at least a few hours at night, and so it takes me another five excruciating days to get in sight of the city. But oh, when at last I see it towering above the field before me, what relief! I can only hope I've gotten here in time.

No sooner have I let that hope blossom than I feel it. The witch passed this way, heading straight for the city, and I'm still following her footsteps. Recently too.

Enough of relief and hope. They can do nothing. Fear stabs at me, but I bat that away too. None of those feelings will help me now. Only running, bolting for the city and praying that everyone is still safe will be of any use. So with one last whooshing breath, I take off at a dead run.

My race to the city lasts far too long, no matter that it's the fastest I've gotten there in my life. My heart presses painfully against my ribs, reminding me with every frantic, pleading beat what I am most afraid of and what I most want to stop.

All my reasonings of the witch not heading to the city are now gone, and all I have left is my hope that she has forgotten all about me. After all, what could my husband gain her? Darin is no lynchpin of Narnia, and neither am I. She would gain nothing by hurting either of us, and especially not him. And Sima, Sima is far too old to pose a threat. And what harm could Nina serve? There's no reason for the witch to go after any of them.

As I fly across the ground, I have to keep pressing back the fear trying to choke me as I rapidly approach the city where I have made my happy home these years. I can't lose that, I can't lose Darin…

Running is all I think of until I burst through the city gates. The witch's magical signature still pulses beneath my feet, though it's only there if I concentrate.

As I fly past, I can't completely ignore the stares. And while I concede that it is certainly odd to by racing through the city in broad daylight around the lunch hour, I can't be bothered to care. I can deal with any unwanted questions once I know that Darin is safe, that Sima and Nina are safe, that I've been distressing myself over nothing.

This is what keeps my head attached to my shoulders as the city streets seem to lengthen in front of me. Darin is fine, Darin is safe, she has no reason to hurt him. No reason, he's fine, he's all right, he's safe…

I spend so long reciting these words to myself that I almost run right past my own front door. _Our_ front door. I stop in my tracks, skidding so hard on the cobblestones that a tear blooms on the sole of my shoe. The ground is like ice against my foot.

Hand shaking, I grip the door handle and force a smile. He's fine, Darin is fine. Darin is safe. It's all right.

At once, I remember the time. I shouldn't be looking for him here; silly me, he's at work. A hysterical laugh bubbles in my throat at my foolishness. Of course Darin isn't at home. What have I been so afraid of? I'll just go by the smith shop and say hello, since I'm already here.

Yet even as I stand there, convincing myself that I've been a fool and an idiot and just too paranoid for my own good, the witch's magic tickles at the back of my senses.

No, that can't be right. Why would she come here? I shake my head at myself, fingers falling from around the doorknob and swooping up to cover my mouth. I've been ridiculous, of course she's not here. I must be imagining it. That's the proper explanation, yes. I'm imagining it.

If the people of this city did not write me off as a lunatic before, surely they will do so now. Here I am, standing in front of my front door smiling into my palms and shaking my head after tearing through the city like the very hounds of hell were at my heels.

I turn around on my heel, ignoring the cold, damp stone poking through my shoe. Perhaps if I hurry a little, I can join Darin for lunch. Yes that's it! Lunch.

Magic still flickers. My heart slowly rises into my throat. Perhaps I should slip into some other shoes; it is winter after all, and tears in shoe soles are never comfortable this time of year.

Slow as molasses, I turn back to my door, trying to be unsure of why my hand still trembles like a leaf when I lay it upon the knob once more.

A knife of ice in my heart, I grip the knob and push open my door.


	8. An Old and Dear Friend

**(Caspian POV)**

No matter the warmth and comfort of the wigwam, Caspian wakes tired and heartsore. His Queen came to his dreams, and she pleaded with him to bring their son home safe. Now with the coming of morning, her words echo in Caspian's ears.

His head pounds with the weight of missing her and needing to see Rilian again. Eustace's snort-like snores don't even bring a fond flicker of a smile to his face, not this morning. With feet that feel so much heavier than they are, Caspian emerges from the wigwam into the cold air. A moment of solitude would be most welcome, and he has some time yet before Eustace and Jill wake. He suspects Rose will be up shortly, but he silently prays for a few minutes longer at least.

For now at least, Caspian's only company is the gentle humming of the marsh and the slight fog still lingering from the night previous. And still the voice of his wife will not leave him be. Caspian's not even sure if he wants it to; any memory of her is precious and dear. There will be no new ones, after all.

With that, Caspian has at once had enough of solitude. Peace and quiet be damned, he doesn't want to have to fight off his sorrow alone. Even just company would be distraction enough.

In a rush, Caspian spins on his heel and reenters the wigwam with that now-familiar lumpish feeling in his throat. How long will it be before he can think of his family without the choking grief?

His preoccupation bodes ill for the sleep of his companions. Caspian's careless footfalls have already woken Jill, if her girlish grumbling is any indication. Cringing, Caspian waits for a probable sleepy scolding from Rose. She's quite the light sleeper, and she is not a favorite of early rising.

Strange, no tongue-lashing comes. Did Rose somehow sleep through his noisy entrance? No matter, Caspian is simply grateful to escape with his dignity intact. Not that he can enjoy the relative quiet (excluding Jill's mutterings and Eustace's snorts); it's time they were on their way.

"We should set out soon," he says, squinting in the meager light. "Pack your things."

Two young voices grouse at the order, but Caspian notices there is one voice missing. Rose must have been exhausted to sleep so soundly. That's not like her at all.

Caspian's brow furrows. She most certainly should have said something by now. Inching his way through the wigwam, Caspian looks for her as best he can with the very poor light. But when he reaches the spot she slept in, the space is empty. No pack, no Rose, no sign that anyone was ever here.

What in the Lion's name…

"Oh," comes the small voice of Jill, cutting through his confusion. "Rose wanted me to tell you she had to go check on something."

Caspian freezes in his boots. Check on something? What could possibly be more important than finding his son? _Check on something?_

Jill babbles on, seemingly oblivious to Caspian's shock and rapidly rising temper. "She said it was important, something about back home. She said you'd know what that means."

Back home? Caspian swallows hard, forcing down his sprouting anger. That could only mean Tanssi Kuun. But what was there to check on, and at a time like this? Surely she took care of things before she left. Surely she left some greater explanation than that.

"She had to check on something?" Caspian repeats slowly, and with a dreadful sort of calm. What something mattered more than Rilian, his stolen son, Narnia's only rightful heir? The last piece of his family?

Now Jill is starting to understand; when she answers, her voice catches at the beginning. "She promised she'd be back, honestly. It seemed really urgent."

Caspian cannot help but think that it most definitely better be urgent and important and, frankly, a matter of life and death, else what kind of treatment is this? Were the children so disagreeable that Rose took off? But she's never done that sort of thing before. No no, it must be urgent, it must be something pressingly, awfully urgent or she never would have left. He must think of it like that, he must. Angry though he is, Caspian cannot bear to question one of his dearest friends now.

Jill seems worried now. The small shuffling noises of her packing have ceased, and the uncomfortable silence stretches on. Well, Eustace mutters some confused words, but Caspian doesn't bother answering. In truth, it barely registers until Jill's been waiting so long for his answer that he must give it now. Perhaps by saying words far more gracious than he feels, this burning ire will lessen.

"Rose must have had some urgent matter indeed," Caspian says slowly. "Did she give any indication as to the time of her return?"

"Would someone tell me what's going on?" mumbles Eustace.

"Hush up, Scrubb!" Jill fires back before turning back to Caspian. "Rose said she'd meet us at the Giant's Bridge in two weeks. What kind of urgent matter do you suppose she's attending to?"

Two weeks? They could reach the Bridge in half that time if travels were speedy, and still days before if they were slowed. Two weeks? What in Aslan's name is she thinking?

Caspian speaks slowly, hiding his fisted hands behind his back. "Prepare to leave. We're going after her."

"She did say she'd be back…" Jill trails off, looking very small and timid as she swallows whatever else she was going to say. No doubt she caught sight of his clenching jaw.

"I do not care what she said. The witch that killed my wife is still on the loose. No matter why Rose left, we're going after her." Caspian's voice shakes unexpectedly, and his fists tremble. He's lost his wife and, for the moment, his son. He refuses to lose one of his closest friends to the same evil. Doesn't she know it's not safe to go anywhere alone anymore?

Caspian can't decide whether he's angry or frightened for her, but his hands shake long after they leave the marshes.

* * *

Caspian is praying to Aslan not for strength or guidance, but rather for patience. Patience, because Jill has been mumbling about feeling beastly after sleeping in her clothes, Eustace is taking every opportunity to poke barbs at her, and now their group is back up to four. Puddleglum, being the loyal and honorable Marshwiggle he was, insisted, of course, on coming.

"Not that I should be any help," he'd said. "But four's always good company for those sorts of arguments that happen on adventures such as this. That way each one has someone to spar with."

Aslan help him, but Caspian thought to refuse the help at first. But the Wiggle was fully sincere, and even seemed excited about the prospect. Now Caspian is quite sure that the enterprise is some sort of lesson in sobering up, but he's not so cynical yet as to believe that's all Puddleglum is hoping for. And until they catch up with Rose, Caspian needn't be left alone to manage two ornery, arguing children.

He's beginning to understand just why Rose was so cross with them. Strange, that only now when he's chasing her down from her foolishness does he realize how easy impatience with those two really is. Puddleglum isn't cheerful company either, though Caspian can bear the dronings of negativity much better than Jill and Eustace's verbal spars.

"Must you argue so loudly?' Caspian grumbles at last as the sun is setting on their first day of the chase. "Quarreling will accomplish nothing."

Here Puddleglum is most happy, if indeed that word could be used to describe a Marshwiggle, to comment on what to expect for the rest of the journey. "It's just as I said, Sire. Sparring of that sort always happens on adventures."

Caspian thanks the Wiggle discreetly, because those very words hush the two children right up (though not before Jill can call Eustace a perfect beast once again).

"Where are we going, Caspian?" Eustace cuts in. "I don't think you mentioned."

"Or maybe he did and you were to busy blustering on to hear."

Lion, they really never stop, do they?

"The city of Telmara," Caspian answers quickly before another spat breaks out and spoils their dinner. "To Rose's home."

"Supposing nothing dreadful happens to her on the road, that is," says Puddleglum. "That sort of thing can happen on these adventures."

Caspian's heart and gut both do strange flips at that, and the air feels suddenly far too cold. "Nothing will happen to her," he replies, reassuring himself more than his gloomy companion. "I have every faith in Rose's capabilities."

His hands shake through dinner nonetheless.

* * *

The trip to Telmara ends up taking a little more than a week. Caspian would have thought they could catch Rose, but now the city looms ahead across the plains and still no sign of her.

"Well, you've got to give her credit for speed," mumbles Eustace.

"Once we get to the city, I will take the three of you to the castle and call a meeting of the council. They may have some answer that Rose has not given," Caspian says, his eyes still fixed ahead.

"How so, Your Majesty?" asks Puddleglum.

"Perhaps the trouble she spoke of had something to do with the witch we hunt."

Caspian has been wondering this past week what could have wrenched Rose so suddenly from his quest, and now he has a tiny suspicion that she fears the witch has some new evil in store for Tanssi Kuun. But naturally, he can't tell his companions that. No matter how much he trusts them, he knows Rose would have his head if he breathed a word of Tanssi Kuun, even now.

But why she didn't wake him and explain herself before leaving? Did she trust him so little, and after many years of friendship?

Caspian does his best not to dwell on thoughts so poisonous, but they still darken his visage as he leads his company through the city gates.

* * *

"In no less than an hour, my Lord."

"It will be done, Sire."

Caspian sends his messenger scurrying away in a right hurry, an impressive feat for one with such rapidly graying hair. Now he turns to his three companions.

"Wait here. Rose may be here in the city, and she may not desire company," he says, not so gently as he could have. But there is only so much gentleness to be had these days.

"Er, but Caspian, mightn't the witch be here?" Eustace calls after him. Puddleglum quickly adds in his vote in the affirmative.

"Even if she is, she will not dare attack in the middle of the city. Wait here until I return," Caspian repeats, already three steps out the door.

He doesn't know what's happened, but he does know that Rose will tell him nothing if the others are there. He's almost sure that only Tanssi Kuun could prompt her to leave his quest with so little warning. Well, no warning. Lion, he really should try not to be so bitter about that. She would not have left without good reason, he knows she wouldn't.

To avoid prying eyes, Caspian dons his largest cloak for his little trip into the city. No need to attract attention, especially as the entire city must know of his presence by now.

Caspian reaches her house in record time, even trying to blend into the crowds. He maintains his discretion up until her door is right in front of him; then he knocks with unforgiving blows of his knuckles. If there is no answer here, he'll go to Darin's smith shop to see if he knows anything.

Lion help him, but when there's no answer at the door Caspian thinks for a moment to tear it down and walk inside anyway. He knocks again, even louder this time. Behind him, a pair of guards clank down the street.

"Rose!" he hollers at the door, banging until it rattles on its hinges. "Rose, open the door." He's greeted with an infuriating silence.

Caspian reminds himself that she is most likely in Tanssi Kuun right now, that he shouldn't be worried or furious because she'll be back soon. She wouldn't have left without good reason.

If only she'd come to him directly, he'd find this disappearing act so much easier to handle. He didn't need this, not now. Perhaps such a thought is selfish, but perhaps it is just. Caspian can't say, and his window of time before the council meeting is rapidly slipping away. He can't stand here banging on her door all afternoon.

On his way back to the castle of his father, Caspian tries not to remember that Rose is almost always back by morning, let alone the afternoon.

* * *

Upon his return, Caspian takes great pains to introduce Jill, Eustace, and Puddleglum to the gathered council with all due politeness. He knows it was a bit rude of him to leave them here unattended for an hour, and as his anger faded guilt took its place. And once those introductions are in order, he begins.

"Lords of the Council, I thank you for gathering on such short notice. As you know, I have left Cair Paravel seeking my son. I have reason to believe that the same witch responsible for Narnia's troubles of late may now be near this city."

Shocked murmurs and outraged words fly about like daggers in the council room, Narnian and Telmarine alike. Caspian doesn't miss the wide-eyed look Jill gives him. Eustace whispers some reassuring something to her, and for that Caspian is grateful.

"Bucker up, Pole," Eustace says. "I expect it can't be helped."

"Just so," Puddleglum chimes in. "The business of adventures, you know."

Jill's gaze still darts around like that of a frightened deer, but she nods and sets her chin firm and strong. Caspian will have to thank them both for their maturity later.

"My Lords!" Caspian thunders, at once cursing his lack of patience. "Had she wished to visit some great evil upon this city, you may rest assured she would have visited it already."

The Lords still glance about, clearly unsettled and apprehensive, but they quiet to listen to their king.

"What I require from this honored body," Caspian continues, "is any information you have about the comings and goings since my son's disappearance."

"The city has much traffic, Your Majesty," answers one of the more elderly lords. "It is simply impossible to keep track of every soul that has entered or exited."

Caspian schools his features against anger and impatience. By the Lion, he _knows_ that they won't have a record of every single passerby, but is it so much to ask that they do their best to look back for anything unusual?

"By the accounts of my trusted friends, this witch would not pass unnoticed through a crowd. All I need from you is a summary of any events or persons of note, and nothing more. I am well aware that you cannot document the sneezes of an entire city."

Perhaps Caspian should not have tacked on that last bit, but so help him he is tired and drained and doing his very best to remain a level-headed monarch in spite of all he has lost in the past month. They do not make it easy.

The Lords of the Council sense his ticking patience; he can see it in how they look at him. Wary, controlled, as if they are merely waiting for the signal that he is about to get truly angry. Caspian knows he won't outright crucify them with his words, but he can have a bit of a temper from time to time. Times such as these, for example. But such a display would hardly be productive at the moment, and so he will not have it.

"There have been no unusual travelers of late, Majesty," pipes up a graying Minotaur, his rich voice rumbling throughout the small chamber. "It is I who keep the city records."

This small kernel of cooperation means, at the moment, the world to the embittered Caspian. With a gracious smile and relief for the cooperation in his eyes, Caspian thanks the Minotaur for the information and inquires if there is anything anyone has noticed.

"No matter how trivial it be," he adds, almost desperately at the end.

Silence falls, but thanks be to the Lion it does not last. A Telmarine lord speaks next, brow furrowed as if he doubts the importance of his words.

"Majesty, the only new thing these past days, week even, is that my wife came clamoring to me about the arrival of an old and dear friend."

In his heart, Caspian feels at once that this is significant, in spite of all common sense to the contrary. What harm in an old friend?

"And what does this friend look like?" he asks, keeping his voice measured and even.

"She doesn't say, Sire," says the lord, looking quite surprised that Caspian found this meager morsel important or worth addressing again. "I only know that if I hear of her exquisite green dresses any more, I will sleep in the street rather than live through it again."

Caspian practically jumps out of his skin.

"Green, you say?" he forces himself to reply calmly.

If the lord was puzzled before, he is positively lost now. "Yes, my king," he stutters. "Green."

Hope surges. Perhaps Rilian is not so far away as he thought, perhaps he is within reach even now!

"Tell me all," Caspian demands. Is that his heartbeat roaring in his ears?

"What's so special about green?" Eustace whispers beside him, momentarily distracting the flustered king.

"The witch was wearing a green dress when Rilian saw her, you goose," hisses Jill. "Honestly Scrubb, it's like you don't listen at all."

Caspian tunes them out very deliberately as the lord shrugs, at a loss.

"I know little. But if you wish to speak with her about this, she will come at a moment's notice."

Caspian fights the urge to throw up his hands to the heavens and shout thanks to the Lion for the assistance he is being gifted this day.

"Yes, my lord," he says. "Please do so."

The lord nods and doesn't move from his chair. So Caspian must clarify. "At once."

The lord starts but rushes to obey, hurrying out of the room with his robes sweeping the floor behind him. The council looks on in confusion at the whole strange scene, and Caspian tries to will away the tightness in his chest.

One step closer. He is one step closer to Rilian.

If only Rose were here to see it.


	9. What Rose Found

**(Rose POV)**

All seems to be normal. All seems to be well. Yet the world suddenly seems to be all a-haze, as if I can't be sure what's real and what's not. Blindly, I grope for the door behind me. Mustn't leave the door open like that, Darin doesn't like the dust of the streets getting in the house too much…

Everything is moving so slowly; why? I step further into the living area. There are the two sitting chairs that Darin and I saved for months to purchase, with cloth spun by Sima herself covering the red cushions. And there to my left is the fireplace, with ashes still sitting inside. The kitchen table, worn around the edges and covered in that matching mahogany tablecloth, sits exactly as I last left it. That was where Darin gave me his blessing to go help Caspian, to go and find Rilian…

Why is my heart still sinking? Why is my stomach still tying itself in knots? There is nothing to fear here.

Yet, as I shuffle along the packed floor toward the room I share with my husband, I can't completely believe it all. It's too perfect, too presentable, too neat, too…too…

I palm open the door to my bedroom.

And I scream.

Shaking hands fly to my face and I muffle my cry into my palms. Tears sear down my cheeks. Apologies stutter across my lips even as my voice fails me, cracking and breaking in the still air.

The scent of death is everywhere here.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," I sob into my hands as my fingers dig trails into my cheeks. The metallic scent of blood floods my nose when I pull my hands away. Grief, horror, the smell, all of it presses in on me, crushes against my chest until I can't breathe for the pain.

Fingertips stained with the blood from my cheeks, I reach toward him with my mouth open, gasping for breath. Perhaps he is only sleeping...

My fingers land on cold flesh. Fumbling, I grasp at his wrist, desperate for the tiny pulse of life under his skin.

There's nothing, so I press harder against his vein. It's got to be there, it's got to be, she had no reason to do this, she didn't have time, there's no reason -

"Darin?" his name falls from my lips like a prayer, a plea for him to open his eyes and reassure me that it's only a bad dream, that I'm wrong, that she never came here, that there's no reason for me to be crying on the floor next to the bed clutching at his arm for a heartbeat.

Shaking, I rise to my knees and grab his shoulders. "Darin?" I ask again. No answer, so I shake him. I shake him harder when nothing happens.

At once, I have no choice but to understand. He's gone.

No words push at my throat now. My trembling hands still on his shoulders. I release them and lower my husband's body back to the floor as gently as possible. His head starts to fall back, so I catch it with one hand and lower him the rest of the way. I can't think, can't speak, can't fight to prove my senses and my fears wrong anymore. He's gone, cruelly yanked from me, and I was too late to stop it.

My tears sting the cuts my fingernails made in the flesh. As I wince, my eyes fall on two small puncture wounds in his neck. My heart squeezes painfully and I don't want to look at it anymore, but I can't look away. I stare at the wound, stare and stare until my eyes hurt from not blinking.

His eyes are still open.

A sob pushes at my throat, but I swallow it as quickly as it comes. Crying will do nothing. Crying won't bring him back. With newfound steadiness in my hands, I slide his lids closed so he won't have to stare at the ceiling forever. Instead, I stare at him. He's so cold under my hands…he was never cold.

I get the crazy idea that he shouldn't be cold. Though I know it'll do no good, I take the blanket from the bed and wrap it around him, tucking it tightly around his body as if to trap the heat that I know is no longer there. Slowly, I lay beside him, curling myself up against his side. In my head, I know this is doing nothing, but my heart won't let me do anything else. So there I lie, ignoring the muffled sounds of the city's daily business that leak through the walls. I want him to be warm.

* * *

When I wake, the house is dark throughout and my husband still lies beside me, cold and still. The blanket really didn't do anything.

I have to bury him.

This I realize with cold and startling clarity. He shouldn't be laying here on the floor of our bedroom exactly as he fell. He should be put to rest, tucked away where no prying eyes will see him, where no one will disturb him.

Back stiff from my time on the floor, I inch my way up to a kneeling position and try to lift his shoulders. My arms tremble from the effort, but I can do it. Yet when I try to lift the rest of him, my strength gives out and I have to catch him before he drops back to the floor.

Tears prick at my eyes; how can I fail him in this, this one final thing? I can't fail him, I can't leave him here, I can't –

Steely determination sets in. I'm _not_ going to fail him. I am going to carry his body out of the city, I will do it unnoticed, and I will give him a proper burial. It's what he would have done for me, and so much more.

So I lift again, my back screaming in protest. But how can I give up? He never gave up on me. I set my teeth and ignore the pain in every muscle. I'm not letting him stay here like this, and I'm not getting any help either. This is my gift to him. He wouldn't want the whole city in an uproar, and that's exactly what would happen if word got out. And…Aslan help me, I couldn't stand the pity. I couldn't do it, I'm not strong enough for that. But I am strong enough to get him to the woods.

Sweat tickles at my skin, but I finish the job anyway. When I've straightened my legs and stood, my husband's body is in my arms and I take my first step. My legs hold. So I take another. And another. Before I know it, I'm at my front door and listening for any noise outside.

By the grace of Aslan, all is still. I suppose I slept well into the night with him, beside him.

Getting the door open proves almost impossible, but at last the knob turns all the way and I can go back to supporting my husband's back with that hand. A final glance into the streets shows me no soul in sight. I scoot the door closed behind me and make my way through the streets of Telmara. So many times, he walked this way with me on nights like this…

Getting out of the city is almost too easy. I know these streets well from years of sneaking about at night, and I know all the right nooks and crannies to scoot into whenever someone wanders by. I've gone my entire life slipping through unnoticed, and now it's once again serving me well. The only trouble is the extra guards at the city gate.

A flash of anger whips through me, but I choke it back down. That won't help. And besides, I happen upon the gate just as the guards are changing. It takes only a little more skill than usual to slip past and move along the wall until I'm out of sight.

After escaping the city, the trick is getting across the plains. But even this is easily accomplished; I'm determined to give Darin the honor he deserves, and I'm not allowing for any error. So there is none.

Once we're among the trees of the forest, I walk freely and hold him to me tighter than ever before. Understanding dawns; once I bury him, he is truly gone. I haven't even said goodbye.

My chest tightens to the point of pain again, and yet again I ignore it. I can worry with that later. Right now, none of that matters. None of it, not one bit of it, not when my husband is dead and I knew he was in danger and I got there too late to stop it and it should have been _me_ that the witch took, not him and –

I have to stop. Thoughts like that make my legs tremble and the body in my arms suddenly feel a thousand times as heavy. I banish every thought tugging at my mind, every tear of pain ripping at my heart, and let sweet detachment flood through me, distancing me from the reality of death and failure.

Almost before I know it, my feet lead me to Tanssi Kuun's door. Perhaps I should bury him here, next to the place that brought us together, the place he proposed. The memory prods at my mind. Now that I'm here, I let it in.

There he stood, right before the tree as I stand now. I was just about to lift my pendant to the engraving that summer night when he caught my hand in his own and told me to wait, that there was something he'd been meaning to ask me for quite some time. And here I'd stood, tipping my head to the side in confusion even as my heart beat like a bird's wings against my ribs. In my heart, I wondered.

And without any further ceremony, he simply knelt before me and pulled a ring from his pocket. He said little, only that he never wanted a life without me in it and would I marry him. Simple and sweet, and just like him.

When the memory fades into my sorrow, I find that my cheeks are wet and my legs are giving out beneath me. I collapse to the ground, gripping Darin close as I go so he won't fall onto the cold earth too. Pained cries for the man I've lost tear at my throat, ripping past my lips with a ferocity I'd almost forgotten since this afternoon's discovery.

"I'm sorry," I cry into his shoulder, the blanket catching my tears before they taint his skin. "I'm sorry, so sorry, I should have known, I never should have left."

I have to pull myself together. I know I have to, but I can't. Would it have been better if we'd never met, if – no, I can't think like that. He would never want me to think like that.

All I have to do is muster the strength to start digging. That's all. Where is my strength now?

Choking on my sorrow, I wipe my cheeks with my sleeve over and over, until the wool scratches at my tender cheeks. The stinging on the shallow scratches is enough to snap me out of my craze. He wouldn't want this.

Slowly, carefully, I lower his body from my arms to rest on the ground, the blanket shielding him from the worst of it. I take off my cloak and tuck it under his head, taking an extra second to smooth back his hair as I do. It feels as rich through my fingers as it ever has, even if a bit stiff from the cold night air.

My hands leave him in favor of the ground. Almost immediately, my nails break against the hard earth, frozen through with the coming of winter. I steel myself against more tears and try again. At the very least, it will scrape the blood from my fingertips.

It takes a while, but I start to carve out a decent indent in the ground. My fingers ache with cold and strain and it doesn't matter. Wait. Perhaps there's a better way than clawing through the earth.

My eyes lift from my task to the engraving that leads to Tanssi Kuun. After the Great Battle, the vines came and covered everyone we lost, and they became new stars in the sky. So no one is ever truly lost, that's what Bashar said. I don't have to lose Darin to the merciless soil.

A spark of something calm flickers to life in my chest. Standing, I raise my pendant to the tree and open the door. Warm light floods out, welcoming me with open arms and the promise of respite from the world that's taken Darin from me. Tanssi Kuun is a better place for him; after all, it _is_ what brought us together.

I rush to pick up Darin's body from the ground before the door slides closed again. Somehow, he feels just a little bit lighter.

I stride through the door and into Tanssi Kuun, and in that moment I am unspeakably grateful for this world. In the few seconds since deciding to bring Darin here, I can't imagine leaving him anywhere else.

At first, no one is within sight. The faeries spend much of their time in the forests, after all, and sometimes even as far as the mountains. I wasn't expecting them to be here to see me tonight.

Yet, they once again surprise me. Perhaps they can feel my heartache, or perhaps they are not so far away as I think. But no sooner have I begun striding through the wild grassy plains than the faeries swarm around me, ribbons twisting around my body and holding me steady even as I sway on exhausted feet.

They don't ask what happened, nor do they ask what I want to do. No, they simply strengthen me with their ribbons and fly beside me, sending all the comfort they can give. My heart still beats painfully, but with my faeries beside me it's almost bearable.

"The clearing," I whisper. "I want to bury him at the clearing."

"We know, Rose," Bashar whispers at my shoulder. Just hearing her voice eases the throbbing in my soul.

At the clearing, where the grasses retreat and leave softer versions of themselves, I lay down my husband once again, and for the last time. No sooner have I done so than vines race up from the earth and weave themselves over him. Perhaps they will warm him where the blanket couldn't…

The mourning song rises around me and ribbons flow forward to intertwine with the flowering vines. I open the pouch at my side and release the ribbon the faeries gifted to me for my journey. With none of my own, this is the most I can offer him in this ritual.

Lights compact, brighten, raise his body up into the sky. My voice scratches against my throat as I strain to reach the crescendo with all the faeries. A final, lingering note, and then…my Darin is gone. Almost frantically, I search the sky until my eyes cross, searching for him. I'm not supposed to lose him so completely, I have to be able to find him…

There. Just to the right of the Mountain Star, the one that sits over the Northern Mountains. There is Darin, winking back at me from afar. I smile absently; he always loved green. It's fitting that now, that is what he glows.

Were I anywhere else, the questions would begin now, questions of what happened and am I all right and is there anything they can do and shouldn't I sit down. Not here. No, the faeries know better than to harass me with meaningless queries. They wrap ribbons around me and lead me from the clearing into the woods, where the trees shelter us from the breeze.

"Thank you," I whisper. I know they can feel my gratitude, but I had to say it. I had to make sure they know how much it means that now I haven't lost him forever.

"Sleep, Rose," whispers Bashar. "Nothing will disturb you."

No sooner has she finished her words than I sink to the ground gratefully. Vaguely, I feel ribbons catch me and deposit me into a hammock before I slip away into sleep.

* * *

When I wake, it's still night. Stars greet my gaze.

There he is, directly above me, peeking through the pine canopy. Glowing a deep and rich green, almost smiling at me. A great and painful weight surges to life once more in my heart, in my bones. There is no crevice of me untouched.

"Rose."

The clawing, clenching sorrow subsides enough to let me breathe at the sound of Bashar's voice. Has she sat here with me this whole time?

"How long have I been asleep?" I ask. My voice cracks, hoarse with disuse and the stickiness of grief.

"Almost two days. We helped you sleep the best we could," she murmurs, sending a ribbon to wrap around my shoulders almost as if by instinct.

We sit there silently, together on the hammock, for a long while. So long that the moon begins to peek above the horizon. I try not to will it away, the new light that may wash out the star that remains of my Darin, but even so I find myself wishing that it would be night forever, that I didn't have to see that glowing orb rising in the sky and making it harder to see him.

Nevertheless, I know there is still something I have to do. Grief can only have its way for so long.

"I have to go back," I whisper into the dawn. Bashar's ribbon warms my upper body, bathing me in a pale blue light. "I promised Caspian I would help him find his son."

"Then go you must," Bashar replies. I feel how heavy her heart is. As heavy as mine, for I know she and all the others can feel my pain as if it were their own. A blessing and curse, I thought so long ago. I feel her fear also, her fear of losing me. I find myself fearing the same.

"There's more," I hear myself say. "Darin's pendant - it's gone."

Bashar's fear spikes, sending chills down my spine. When she answers, it is with one shaky syllable only. "Gone?"

"I will return, I promise," comes my trembling whisper. "But now I must find the witch more urgently than ever."

Bashar nods, though the dread I sense in her doesn't retreat. "What will you tell him?"

My reply is instant and painful. "Nothing," I say quickly. "Nothing, because he does not need to know."

Silently, Bashar prompts me. She knows there is more, and I admit it to her freely in the privacy of my own heart. I cannot speak the words aloud of what has happened, and so I could not tell Caspian even if I wished to.

With a cracking heart, I force myself to stand. My strength comes from Bashar's ribbon around me still. The warmth reminds me what I must do. Yet, I am loath to leave him. How can I go back to Narnia when there will be no Darin in the night sky to remind me of happier times?

"We will take care of him. He will never want for company." Bashar's words start a new stinging in my eyes, and I can't seem to blink it away.

I don't need to thank her aloud, I know she can feel my gratitude tenfold, but I whisper my thanks anyway. Bashar just smiles a sad, sad smile as she leads me back to the clearing in the wild grasses, where the others wait. Have they too kept a silent vigil while I mourned in sleep?

"I promise, I'll return," I choke out, very nearly overwhelmed at the comfort they send to me. "I will not leave you defenseless."

Now it is not only Bashar's ribbon, but one from every faerie encircling me, flooding my dim world with light and warmth and, amazingly, a faint stirring of hope. I know it won't last long, but I grasp on to that hope for as long as I can. I will need every shred of it I can find to continue on.

Bashar speaks for them all when she sends me on my way.

"Go now, Rose, and come back when Caspian's son is returned to him. We will wait for you."


	10. His Last Friend

**(Caspian POV)**

The lord's wife did indeed have helpful information; from what Caspian can tell, the witch has indeed passed through here, and recently. Moreover, she'd been here for years. If Lady Misia was to be believed, her old friend had been living in Telmara almost as long as Rosamar, though he didn't mention that to the poor distressed soul. Perhaps it was even this witch who wrote him that letter about Rose, and who wrote the letter to his former Lord Regent that resulted in Rose's imprisonment.

If ever he needed proof she was the same snake as the one that threatened Tanssi Kuun, he has it now. At first, he thinks to tell Rose the news, but he remembers with an icy jolt that she's not here. That she left.

Over dinner, Caspian gets the wild idea that Rose might come back tonight. It's completely unfounded, but surely she can't stay away forever. Perhaps she saw him enter the city and she'll come and explain herself.

She won't, but pretending she will calms him.

Caspian stays up for hours waiting for her regardless. First, he keep himself awake by attending to paperwork in his old study. Technically, this is the council's responsibility, but he needs something to keep him from falling asleep and the lords were more than pleased to let him pitch in. And when the stack of paperwork is worked through, Caspian writes a letter to Trumpkin explaining all that has happened so far. He won't be here to receive a reply, but it's something else to do.

The moon is just starting to sink in the sky when Caspian forces himself to accept that Rose won't be returning to the castle tonight. He can only go to bed and hope to find her in the morning. Morning comes, and Caspian sends out several guards to look for her. Caspian reminds himself that it's only been a day since he's arrived in the city and that he can't expect to root her out so soon, especially if she isn't keen on being found. Yet the first pangs of angry anxiety start to prick at his mind.

Lunch hour comes, and no word from the guards. To busy himself, Caspian takes Jill and Eustace out to the training grounds and teaches them swordplay. Eustace remembers much from his days on the _Dawn Treader_ , but Jill has clearly never held anything bigger than a kitchen knife before, and even that is dubious. When she makes little progress, Caspian shifts to archery. The methodical thump of the arrows against the target helps calm his rising impatience.

Evening comes. As before, no sign of her. The guards apologize profusely and say what Caspian already knows - no answer at the door. Caspian tries to remain patient, he truly does, but he's tempted to leave Telmara without her. His son may not have these days left to wile away. A second pang of concern joins the morning's troubled thoughts when the guards say Darin's blacksmith shop is closed. No answer at the door, and no sign of Darin either. Caspian sends the guards away with a heavy heart. Something is definitely amiss, and now it's hard to be so angry with Rose for leaving so suddenly. Does she know what's happened? Is something keeping her away? Is it Tanssi Kuun?

Caspian spends a restless night pacing his room, trying not to worry and utterly failing. She did promise to meet them at the Giant's Bridge, and they'll surely be late if they don't leave tomorrow. But he's not sure if he can leave without knowing what's happened to her.

* * *

"Perhaps we can look for her, just once more before we leave?" Jill suggests over breakfast.

Caspian is quite sure that if the city guards couldn't find anything, the four of them won't either.

"I think the guards covered it all, Pole." Eustace seems to agree with Caspian's unspoken sentiment, and it's only a matter of time before Puddleglum points out the futility of the gesture.

"Assuming she's still in the city," comes the mournful offering. "And assuming she wasn't killed on the road. That sort of thing happens on adventures."

Caspian kneads his forehead with his thumb and tries to quell the pinch of dread in his stomach. "I will go to her home," he says, "the guards won't have gone inside." At the very least, perhaps he'll find Darin - he'll know for sure if Rose is in Tanssi Kuun.

* * *

Caspian leaves the moment breakfast is over. The children were determined to be useful, so he sent them to the blacksmith shop once more with Puddleglum to look after them. The Marshwiggle may be a long-faced fellow, but Caspian trusts his capabilities. He knows they won't find anything, but it gives them something to do.

The walk to Rose's home is far too short. Caspian tells himself he'll find a note inside, something to prove she's alright, but he's been worried lately and he's afraid it has merit, especially in times such as these. He's lost his wife and, for now, his son; what would keep Rosamar safe?

Before very long at all, he's at her door. The bustlings of a city awoken hours ago provide the veneer of normality. In other times, the noise and life would comfort him; now, it grates at his patience. Selfishly, he wants this to be a private thing, visiting Rose's house again.

He ignores his pride and knocks. No answer. Perhaps Darin is in Tanssi Kuun with her? Caspian knocks again, louder this time. The wood is rough against the side of his fist. "Rose?" he calls. "Darin?"

Nothing. They must both be gone, taking care of something that she couldn't tell him about. But concern still gnaws at his insides, so Caspian swallows his manners and tries the doorknob. Open.

First glance shows him an empty house. And so he enters, barely caring that Rose would be quite angry at him striding in like this if she found out. But she's missing and so he's not completely unjustified, is he?

Caspian searches the entire house from wall to wall. And just as it's been for the past day, there is nothing. No sign of Rose, no sign of anyone. Shouldn't at least a pot be out of place? He remembers how she'd harp on Darin for leaving clean dishes lying around.

The only place Caspian hesitates to search is the bedroom. It feels too intimate, too intrusive. But something feels odd, out of place, as he stands in the doorway. A strange smell. He steps inside, freezes. The sheets are half off the bed and there's no blanket. The rug beside the bed is creased. But oh, it's worse than a small case of not making the bed. The smell. Even the cold cannot hide that smell, and Caspian knows it too well.

Death.

He's choking on nothing, vision blurred from shaking his head too quickly. He should never have let her leave alone.

The floor is hard and cold under his knees. How could this have happened? His last true friend, his closest friend, now taken from him too? What cruel world is this, to take all he loves most exactly when he cannot lose it?

Caspian can't be sure what he does for a good while after that, but when his vision clears Rose's wall is dented and cracked and his hands are bloody. His throat stings, like he's been screaming himself hoarse for hours on end. But no one's come knocking at the door, so perhaps he didn't. It doesn't matter, not really; he just has to pull himself together to go find his son. To find the witch, and sever her miserable serpent's head from her neck.

* * *

Night's fallen and Caspian is late for dinner.

"Why there you are, Cas, we - " Eustace stops at once when Caspian glances over at him.

"What's happened?" Jill's voice cuts through the air.

Roast pheasant. Caspian wants nothing to do with one of favorite dishes. Just the smell makes his stomach turn.

He can't quite answer Jill. The words bubble up his throat, but his tongue can't force them out. He'll tell them later. Later, when he's remembered how to properly speak.

Caspian makes some vague motion that he's going upstairs and to go on eating without him and leaves the dining hall. As the doors close behind him he hears Jill asking something, too softly to be meant for his ears. Puddleglum is the one to reply, with something about "can't be helped, I imagine" and "best leave His Majesty be." He'll have to thank the Marshwiggle in the morning.

But for now, the only thing he wants to do is go to his room and sort himself out well enough to continue on in the morning. Perhaps he should have mentioned that...he can send someone to tell them, when his words are returned to him.

They don't come back until the sky lightens again. Caspian's hands are well awake, and they take to pulverizing every mirror he sees. The thin scabs left from this morning's revelation break open and leave red smears on the glass shards. It's a wonder no one comes to see what all the noise is. Then again, they probably know better by now, even in Telmara.

But when the sun finally starts to lighten the sky, only numbness remains. It almost feels as if the past months happened to someone else and he's somehow stepped into a stranger's shoes. Odd, but it'll help him finish the quest. He lets this numb feeling fester as he exits his room and goes to rouse his companions. With any hope, they'll be up already.

As it turns out, they are not. Caspian goes to their rooms himself and wakes them with merciless knocks on the door. He strides inside and tries to deliver a booming good morning, but it comes out more defeated than anything. Still, it's loud enough to do the job.

"We're up, alright!" hollers Eustace from under the sheets, flailing about on the floor as he tries to disentangle himself. "Sod off, won't you!"

For her part, Jill only lets out one girlish shriek at Caspian's sudden entrance before dragging herself from bed. "Be down in a moment," she says through a yawn.

A moment turns out to be almost a quarter hour, but Caspian refrains from hurrying them. It gives him more time to pull himself together and find a way to either avoid the subject or spit it out. He finds he has little preference for which, only that they get on the road soon. Caspian has no care to see this city again.

His companions appear in the dining room just as he's swearing to never set eyes on this place as long as he lives. Everything here reminds him of Rose, and now even breakfast seems too long a venture to stay.

"Good morning." Jill's voice floats into his ears, and again Caspian feels as though he's in someone else's body.

"Good morning," he replies, quickly hiding his hands behind his back. A glance down showed him blood on his knuckles again, and he doesn't want any more questions than there'll be already.

"Cas, everything alright?"

He's beginning to agree with Rose's distaste for questions. Perhaps that's why she left, so she wouldn't have to -

Lion, he can't think about that.

Caspian clears his throat and mumbles something about the importance of eating breakfast.

"Not to be rude, Your Majesty, but shouldn't you be eating too? Best to keep up strength for these adventures, though we'll all be dead on the side of the road by tomorrow. Giants aren't terribly friendly, and might well mistake us for their next meal." Good old Puggleglum, always looking on the down side of things. Oddly, it doesn't annoy him as much as it should. If anything, the morbidity suits his mood.

"Finish up, we leave within the quarter hour."

"Shouldn't you eat something?" Jill calls after him. Caspian barely hesitates as he exits the room, saying something about not being hungry and getting their things together.

It's something beyond relief when they finally leave half an hour later.

* * *

"And we couldn't use horses why?"

"Stop whining, Pole."

"At it again, I see," chimes in Puddleglum, rubbing his hands together with something akin to glee.

Caspian, on the other hand, rubs circles into his brow with the hand not balancing his pack. They've only just gotten outside of the city, and already Jill and Eustace are at it again. He explains the lack of wisdom in taking horses into Giant country, especially so close as they'll be venturing to Harfang. It quiets Jill down, but Eustace gets curious about Harfang and starts asking what it is. Thankfully, Puddleglum again steps in before Caspian has to open his mouth.

"Some terrible place, I shouldn't wonder. Giants aren't a friendly sort. They'd as soon squash us into jelly as look at us, or perhaps bludgeon us with boulders. You never know, on these sorts of adventures."

Jill sounds positively sour as she retorts, "Why must you always be such a wet blanket, Puddleglum? I think it's not been half as bad as you say so far."

"That's the spirit, Pole, keep up your cheer. Just so, though I expect it won't last long." Somehow, Puddleglum seems positively joyous - as joyous as a Marshwiggle can be, that is - at dispensing more gloomy rantings.

"Oh stop it, Puddleglum. Honestly, it's as if - "

Caspian doesn't hear the rest. He sees a figure there across the plain, emerging from the forest. Something inside his chest twists, and he can't get air past his lips. That looks like...but no, it can't be.

"Rose? Rose!" What starts as a disbelieving whisper jolts into a shout that scrapes at his throat and leaves him hoarse. He races over the frozen ground, half sure he'll see it's not her and he'll be back to misery and missing his last friend left. But the figure lifts her head as he approaches. Lion, he must be imagining it, but his heart twists at the familiar face. But the house...

"Rose!"

He must look crazed, mad as a loon, but he races toward her anyway, toward the figure that looks like Rose and might be Rose and Lion, might it be? She looks more and more like the friend he's so sure he's lost. Perhaps the late morning sun is playing tricks, or perhaps there's no one there at all and his mind is making up Rose's face. Surely, if it really was Rose she'd be running to him too, wouldn't she? She wouldn't lift her head to meet his frantic gaze only to drop her face toward the ground once more and plod along like it was a useless enterprise. She'd be reassuring him, wouldn't she? She'd be shouting that she was alright, wouldn't she?

When at last he reaches her, this strange figure wearing the face of his closest friend, he's surer than ever he must be imagining the whole thing. For surely this can't be Rose, not the Rose he knows. This woman wears the face of unspeakable grief, the light gone from her eyes and the fire gone from her step. This can't be Rose, not unless...

Oh, Lion. Caspian skids to a stop and lays his hands on her shoulders, the last of the pieces clicking into place. Darin. This is Rose, because only one thing could have happened to make her like this. It was Darin the snake took, not Rose.

"Rose?" he whispers one more time. The stabbing chill that shoots down his spine all the way into his boots has nothing to do with the cold morning. "Are you alright?" he tries. A stupid question, but he has to hear that she'll make it, that she'll be alright.

"The Giant's Bridge?"

It takes him a while to understand what she means, but when he does he's left in awe. Such pain, and still her thought is the quest?

"We were worried," he says. Her shoulders tremble under his hands.

Dimly, Caspian realizes Eustace, Jill, and Puddleglum have caught up and are now halting only a few feet away with quizzical expressions on their faces. Yet their arrival is not lost on Rose; in an instant, she straightens and meets his gaze with a fierceness that actually makes him stumble back a step, shocked at the sudden change in her. She's somehow tucked all her grief away, hidden except in the weight that now haunts her gaze.

"We shouldn't waste time." And with nothing more than those four words, Rose steps away from him and doesn't look back.

* * *

Jill turns out to be the most sensible one when it comes to this new and colder Rose. The young girl starts chattering on about the most inane little things, from hair ties to peppermints to some ridiculous school called Experiment House. Caspian fully expected Rose to shut down the jabbering, but she surprised him - she welcomed it. Why in the name of the Lion she would, he has no idea. But in the end, it eases the burden behind her eyes, and so he's more grateful than he's yet been that Aslan sent the two children. They may not know what's going on or what happened (not that they haven't asked, but Caspian refuses to tell them) but they're the most calming influence on Rose at the moment, more so than even Caspian himself. If anything, Rose gets worse when Caspian tries to break past the strange wall that's gone up between them. He doesn't like it, yet he lets her be. If he can't be of any help, at least those two children can.

For his part, Eustace takes up a different strategy. Caspian's young friend instead chooses to reminisce of their voyage east. At first, Caspian is dubious, but he soon grows happy with the memories and the cloud over his mind eases too. Puddleglum takes it upon himself to point out the dangers of the road every now and then, sometimes supplementing with stories he's heard of Giants. A rather brainless lot, he correctly names them, but dangerous enough in some breeds to warrant caution.

Their day ends with them rapidly approaching Giant territory. They'll probably be in Ettinsmoor within a few days, but for now they can rest relatively safe. As safe as anyone can be with the witch on the loose, that is. In spite of this, Caspian still isn't quite sure about lighting a fire, so dinner that night becomes bread and smoked meat. Rose doesn't touch a thing and the haunted look comes back into her eyes as the light fades over the horizon. Caspian bites back his questions; Eustace and Jill are still awake. Perhaps he can speak with her on the night watch. He's not surprised when she volunteers for the first shift. Nor does he argue; he merely says he'll take it after her and sends Jill and Eustace to bed.

When the time for his watch comes around, Caspian wakes with relative ease. But at soon as he rises and starts over toward Rose's seated figure, she orders him away.

"Go back to sleep, Caspian," she says without turning around. "You need your rest."

"Rose – "

She cuts him off before he can even finish her name. "I'm not asking."

Right now, Caspian wishes he could see with the heart as she could. He should've asked the faeries to teach him, but somehow in all those years he never thought of it. He wishes he'd made the time.

"I know you didn't sleep last night," Rose says, a little softer than before. "Until morning."

Caspian forces himself to turn around and go back to bed. Well, he tries. But instead of sleeping as Rose has practically ordered him to do, he can only lay there and pretend as the night wears on.


	11. A Game of Cock-Shies

**(Rose POV)**

I spend my night in solitude. Caspian was wise to listen to me, to let me take the rest of the watch. I don't know what I would've done if he hadn't.

I suppose I should feel lucky that I stumbled across Caspian and company as they were leaving the city. I did resolve to help find Rilian, and I wasn't about to let one loss stop me from doing that. By the Lion, I needed the distraction. But when the loss is so close to home, and I have no words to explain what's happened, it's easy to regret my decision to rejoin them.

If there was one thing the faeries reminded me of in the day and a half I spent there, it was that I never go back on my word. I swore to protect them, and now I've sworn to myself to help Caspian, to try and mend a little of the gaping wound the witch left in his life. And as if that were not enough, I now have to protect Tanssi Kuun once again – even if I wanted to stay behind in that world, I couldn't. Darin's pendant was missing from his body, and my only guess is that the witch has it now. Once she's finished with Narnia, I have no doubt Tanssi Kuun will be next.

I should not feel so angry as I do.

I could never hate Caspian, one of my oldest friends, but I can't shake the feeling that none of this would've happened if I hadn't gone to him and left Darin alone in the city. I could have been there to stop the snake, to sense it before it arrived. But I know how capable Darin is of looking after himself. It must've come when he was sleeping.

Lion, if I hadn't gone exploring that night in the marshes, I may not have known until I returned home after the quest.

I mustn't blame the quest for this. Yet, I only have to repeat this because I know that, in however small a part, I can't help but do so.

I know perhaps I shouldn't have left with only a message delivered by Jill, that now Caspian is worried about what happened. He looked like a ghost when he ran up to me. I know I shouldn't have been so short with Jill and Eustace, even though the addition of Puddleglum renews my distaste for company. I should be sorry for all of these things.

I'm barely sorry at all.

All I'm sure of is that they can't know. I'm not ready for them to know, not ready for the pity and the apologies and condolences. More than anything, I'm not ready for Caspian's guilt. I know he would blame himself if he knew, not just the quest as I do. For Caspian, the quest is his doing and hence the loss of my husband would be his doing by extension.

Aslan help me, I almost decide to tell Caspian anyway. I don't want to lie to him.

But two things make the lie better than the truth. First, the quest. He's only trying to save his son, and I'd do the same in his shoes. He can't afford the distraction. And second, my own pain. I have always preferred to deal with these things on my own. This time, no matter what I owe him, is no different.

By the time morning breaks across the sky, I've composed myself enough to get through another day. The one good thing thus far is Jill; somehow, her stories of this England she comes from distract me from my grief and confusion. I didn't like her or Eustace before, but now I don't think the quest could go on without them. Were it not for Jill distracting me and Eustace distracting Caspian, I have a feeling I'd be at his throat by now, yelling horrible things and blaming him for all of it just to fill the air with words. And that's where Puddleglum comes in: he has plenty of words to say, though none of them are particularly cheerful.

Caspian, predictably, is the first to rise. I don't miss the bags under his eyes when he looks over at me. He must not have slept after trying to take the watch. I wish I could be sorrier than I am.

For a moment, it looks as though he might ask me what happened, since Jill and Eustace are still fast asleep, but at the last second he turns away. He was wise to change his mind.

I take the task of waking the two children and the Marshwiggle without a word, leaving Caspian to get out breakfast. Well, breakfast for the four of them. I still have no appetite to speak of.

"Morning already?" grumbles Jill as my jostling brings her back from the world of sleep.

Her slight grumpiness coaxes the smallest of smiles to my lips, and I continue on to Eustace. His snores rumble on, as they did for most of the night. He wakes with a louder snort than the rest, and it keeps my smile on my face for just a second longer.

Caspian offers me breakfast as the Jill and Eustace get themselves coherent, but I refuse without looking at him. I reach out with my heart and almost wince at his blaring concern, but I cover it up in time. I'm just not hungry, and that's my business and he should respect that.

"You should keep up your strength," he murmurs just before Jill and Eustace walk up.

My words are so much colder than they should be. "My strength is fine."

I pretend not to notice how easily he sees through the lie, but I'm grateful when he doesn't press me.

While the four of them eat, I busy myself with packing up the supplies. It will get us on the way faster, and it gives me more of an excuse to keep my distance. Distance will be best, for a while at least.

Once they finish, we continue east and north. It's a slow journey with just our feet over the roughening terrain, but Jill tells me stories again and Eustace keeps Caspian occupied. Puddleglum surprises me with stories of his own, though I've yet to hear more bleak tales. Nearly all of them disavow too much cheerfulness in favor of a more grounded disposition, as Puddleglum calls it. Still, Jill and Eustace jump in to give his tales happier endings and the whole thing keeps me happily distracted.

With the company now so pleasing, the journey seems a bit easier than it did when it began. The day passes full of tales and stories, miraculously without much of the children's usual arguing. Oh Jill offers up the occasional prim snub and Eustace is quick to follow with his barbs, but they keep a surprisingly good handle on themselves. When we stop for the night and Caspian digs out supper from the packs, I thank them quietly for just that.

"It's nothing," Eustace says, waving off my gratitude too easily. "Really, Pole's just been less difficult lately."

"Don't start now, Scrubb, not just before dinner. It's bad taste." Jill's retort comes as easily as ever, though perhaps with a little less venom than usual. I smile regardless. It's good, somehow, to be with these two quarreling troublemakers. It's good to forget.

But after a dinner where the children and Puddleglum do nearly all of the talking, save perhaps ten syllables or so, forgetting isn't nearly so easy. Night brings memories of Tanssi Kuun, and with them a sharp pain beneath my breastbone for the star I ache to see above me. But no, that's not in this world. This world is the one that took him from me.

No sooner have I turned my face away from the night sky than Caspian approaches, boots harsh on the rocky ground. I prepare to send him away again. He has no right to my pain, and I know well that I won't be able to hide it easily tonight. I'm missing my star far too much.

"You should rest."

"As should you." The exchange chills me as effectively as the wintery air. I know I owe him the truth, but must I owe it now? Can't it wait, at least until the quest is over and I can tend my grief in private? Didn't I give him the same, when Lilli was snatched away?

Caspian sits beside me just as I part my lips to order him away again. I'm here to help him find Rilian, and nothing more.

"Rose – "

"Nothing's changed in a day. Go to bed."

To my surprise, he doesn't argue.

* * *

Morning comes much the same as before. Silence, breakfast, packing, walking across endless land, stories to pass the time. The children seem to have a wealth of tales to tell, but I worry they'll run out sooner than we can come up with other things to say. Dinner, a night watch where I refuse Caspian's company once again. The pattern only breaks the next day, when Caspian tells us we've finally crossed into Giant territory and to be especially cautious now.

Caspian even warns that we'll likely run into giants today and not to be too loud. I listen just enough to take heed, but in truth I care very little about giants. They're known for being rather stupid by Caspian's own stories, never minding Puddleglum's notions of hungry giants squashing us to jelly. All we've got to do is slip past quietly.

Sure enough, by noon we come to a row of towering boulders. At first glance, they seem to be just that – boulders with odd markings here and there. But Caspian tenses at once and hushes our storytelling before we get too close.

"Don't run," Caspian whispers. "They'd catch us in a moment."

And so the five of us walk on steadily, hardly daring to breathe. It'd be so much better to go around these giants, but behind them is a gorge with no bridge across, and if we swung to the south to avoid them we'd go much too far out of the way. There's nothing else to do but pass in front of them and hope they're not paying attention.

At first, it seems to work. The Giants lean against the top of the gorge as casually as you please, completely unconcerned with our little group walking in front of them. Jill clutches my hand when one of them turns its head, but even that one doesn't seem to see us. I don't pull my hand away as I would have days ago. If Jill needs to crush my hand to keep herself from shrieking, so be it.

The moment I resign myself to having only one working hand, our cautious march stutters to a frantic halt. Something large and heavy zooms past overhead and lands mere yards away, landing with a crash that sends the children scrambling.

"Were they aiming for us?" yelps Eustace.

Caspian shakes his head. "It's a game of cock-shies. They play it many a fine morning. We'd be much safer if they were aiming at us, unfortunately." Whatever he was going to say next is forgotten as another boulder crashes mere paces ahead.

"They're terrible shots," I whisper to Jill as she grips my hand even tighter than before.

"All the likelier they'll hit us anyway," Puddleglum adds. "And even supposing they don't, there'll be a good deal more of them on down the way. Hordes, that's the way of things."

The Marshwiggle thankfully hushes up after that, but it's an awful trek. As Puddleglum predicted, the line doesn't seem to end. On and on, an eternal stretch of rumbling, ugly Giants that come far too close to hitting our little party many a time.

By some miracle of Aslan, we continue on through and escape both the flying boulders and the notice of the giants. About half an hour in, however, things take a turn for the worse. An argument breaks out between the stone beasts, and then it's even more noise than before. Two of them start hollering at each other in words of at least twenty syllables, loud enough to rattle my teeth in my skull. The poor children – it shakes them down to the bone, and Jill turns three shades greyer.

To make matters worse, the giants get out great stone hammers and start going at each other with those too. It's deafening, and the hammers have a way of bouncing off the intended target and rebounding into the one doing the hitting. It doesn't take long for the yelling and hammering to give way to such blubbering as I've never heard before. The giants swing at each other, get hit themselves, cry, and try the whole thing over again. Not the brightest beasts.

Soon enough, the whole lot of them are dropping into the gorge and sobbing like the great babies they are. This helps Jill a good deal, since those awful faces aren't visible above the gorge. There's only the loud sobbing to contend with, and that quickly becomes less concerning and more pitiful.

"Why, they're nothing but big babies," Jill says when a good half mile is between us and the giants. "Boo-hooing like that."

"So much the better," I reply. "It makes our journey easier."

And so said journey continues. My breath clouds in front of me, and I wish I'd brought thicker clothes. But in light of everything else I was doing, I suppose it couldn't be helped.

"Jill, would you tell me more about England?" I ask. Just thinking of wandering around the cold reminds me of slipping through the night with my husband in my arms, and I can't be thinking of anything like that without the cover of night.

Jill, bless her, agrees straightaway. This time she tells me about her school, which she calls Experiment House. It sounds perfectly awful, but it's still a distraction and for that I'm grateful. Caspian rides a little closer as Jill tells the tale of Them, the ten or fifteen children who get their fun torturing the rest of the students. According to Jill, Experiment House is most useful for teaching one how to get away rather than anything more traditional like math or reading or languages. In a way, it reminds me of Beruna before Caspian took the throne.

"That's how we got here, actually," says Jill. "I was hiding from Them behind he gym, and Scrubb bumbled into me and told me about Narnia and Aslan and Magic."

Well, that's something I would never do. I only brought friends to Tanssi Kuun in its most dire need; I didn't go around telling it to anyone who looked like they could use a pick-me-up. Yet, I can't fault Eustace for doing so. I'm growing glad of Jill's presence.

"Just like that?" I ask anyway, just to keep the conversation going.

"After a peppermint, yes."

And from there, it's not too difficult to get another tale of the eccentricities of Experiment House. The more I hear, the more starkly it reminds me of growing up in Beruna. While I was fortunate enough to not have the most horrid teachers in the land, the other children were another matter entirely. Looking back, I'm sure they could have been worse, but it did not feel like it at the time.

The day's travels end with us still in Giant territory, though closer to the Giant Bridge than before. It's something, at least.

Unfortunately, this means that dinner is once again an issue. I'm still not hungry, but I know that if I refuse again Caspian may ask if I'm all right again. As little as I care about food, I want to avoid the questions most of all. I don't want to get angry with him again, not when it's almost too easy and not when I know, logically, that I shouldn't.

Predictably, this is exactly what happens in spite of my best efforts to appease him. I accept the offered meat and bread and nibble away, but still Caspian chooses to ask, yet again, when it's time for the watch.

"I can take a watch," Eustace quickly interjects when I stiffen at Caspian's approach. This distracts Caspian long enough for me to slip over to Jill and start up a quiet conversation on the pretense of asking thanking her for not arguing quite so much with Eustace lately.

"We're good friends, but he can be a sod," she explains with a shrug of her young shoulders. "Someone's got to remind him every once in a while."

I'm liking Jill more and more each time I talk with her now. And yet my momentary good mood is ruined once again when Caspian doesn't leave well enough alone. Can't he understand that asking me only makes it worse? That if I _wanted_ to divulge anything, I'd have done so already? Or does he simply not care?

I do my best to stuff those poisonous thoughts as I deflect Caspian's concern for what feels like the tenth time. He's only trying to get to his son, trying to get a piece of his family back…

At least he _has_ a piece left.

"You should rest," he's saying now, moments after ignoring my silent warning to leave me be.

"As should you," I answer, uncaring that Eustace is still within earshot. "I like the night watch, and I'm going to take it."

Hurt flashes in his brown eyes, and then something strangely akin to anger, yet not anger entirely. Anger? What right does he have to be angry with me? I've lost everything trying to help _him_ and he's angry with _me_?

"You and I both know you can't continue on like this, Rose," Caspian murmurs, a warning of his own buried in his tone. I don't hesitate to ignore it.

"I will continue on as I see fit, Your Majesty, and I would thank you to stay out of my business."

Aslan help me, I don't think I've ever spoken to him so coldly before. I regret it instantly, but the words for an apology won't come. I can only seem to look away and stare at the frosted ground, silently wishing I hadn't sounded so callous.

My words cut him deeper than I intended. Certainly, the use of his formal title, one I've not used in years, is what seals the deal. I feel the sudden ache in his heart as clearly as if it were in my own, and yet I still can't muster the will to apologize, to take back the words. They will keep him at a distance, and that is what I need. I can't keep looking him in the eye and seeing his concern. I'm not the one he should be asking after.

This too I tell him, through teeth gritted in sorrow and guilt. That's enough to push him away for the night. He walks away without another word, but even when he lies down I can't ignore his hurt and confusion, blaring as loud as any shout. It makes my own heart spiral too.

I don't want to keep hurting him, I truly don't, but when he keeps pressing and poking and prodding my ugly words fly out before I can stop them and he's just persistent enough, impatient enough, that I can't force out an apology when I'm done, no matter how much I wish I could. Perhaps I'll try in the morning. Yes, I should. I can't keep snapping at him like this, nor can I keep ignoring him all day.

I spend another lonely night staring up at the Narnian stars and trying to keep the weight of it all from crushing what remains of my sanity. Just after the moon reaches its zenith, Eustace's snores break off and Caspian's whisper breaks the still calm of the night. So he's trying to use the boy to get me off the watch. Does he think I can't hear them? When Eustace's feet pad over toward me, I just clutch my borrowed cloak tighter around my body.

"I can take the watch until morning," whispers the blond boy, as cautiously as if he were addressing a wild animal. In some ways, I suppose I am a bit wild now.

"Thank you," I answer with surprising control. "But no. Go back to bed, Eustace. I'll be fine."

If only I could believe those words as easily as I say them.


	12. Travelers in Ettinsmoor

**(Caspian POV)**

The next days, they continue on toward the Giant Bridge without much trouble. Three days into Ettinsmoor, Caspian decides it wise to start hunting fowl so the salted meat doesn't run out, and it slows them down a bit. Impatience bites at Caspian's heels, but with the impending clouds promising snow, he knows they'll need to save as much meat as they can. Little grows in the snow, and hunting will be scarce once it hits.

Caspian stops trying to reach Rose. Every night for a week he tried to take the watch, or at least keep silent vigil beside her. And each time, she rebuffed him. Never so harshly as the night after the run-in with the giants, but she never welcomed his company. Sometimes, during the daylight hours, he could trade meaningless words with her. Words about the giants, the terrain, how much time left until they reached the bridge. Nothing about Telmara, and nothing about why she left so suddenly. The one time he attempted to broach the subject, Rose shut herself away so quickly he was left standing stunned and chilled to the core. He'd concluded she didn't want his help, and he didn't think he should force it onto her.

Rose's behavior is worrying him, and he has no idea what to do. Caspian knows she needs time to mourn, but she doesn't seem to be taking it. Her nightly vigils leave her ever more exhausted, she won't speak of her pain, and she prefers to pretend that nothing's happened. Caspian is beginning to think she shouldn't be here on the quest, but who is he to tell her to go? He also knows she may need this, need the distance from the city and something else to focus on. He can give her that - he has to.

They've reached the bridge today, set over two dizzying cliffs that make Eustace squeak a little when they first come to it. The distant roar of the river below does little to soothe him.

"Oh come on Scrubb, it's only a bridge!" Jill exclaims crossly.

"Last time we came to a cliff you threw me off," the blond boy fires back, his complexion still tinted grey. "Excuse me for being cautious."

"For the last time, I did not throw - "

"That's enough now." Rose cuts in, thank the Lion, but she sounds so weary that Caspian can't help but glance over with barely-hidden concern. Has she been getting any sleep at all?

"We'd best keep on," Caspian says quickly, before the children start again. He knows it annoys Rose when they keep at each other's throats. "We'll rest for a few moments on the other side."

"Begging your pardon, Your Majesty, but we ought to be careful with a bridge like that. Could just as easily be a sorcerer's bridge as a giant's bridge. Enchantment and tricks are all abound these days. Why, those stones may well melt under our feet once we've gotten halfway across." Puddleglum says this rather proudly, as if he's pleased that he's thought of the possibility at all. Well, if the Marshwiggle is trying to sober up about life, as he put it, he's doing a rather fine job.

"As welcome as your counsel may be," Caspian answers as diplomatically as possible, "I can assure you this bridge is quite safe. I crossed it myself, many years ago."

Puddleglum perks up and replies all too happily. "That's precisely my point, Sire. That was many years ago. This witch prowling the country may well have put a spell on the bridge in case we were ever to wander this way. Adventures are full of that sort of mischief."

"Oh don't be such a wet blanket, there's no reason she'd have done anything of the sort," Eustace says. Caspian gets the impression the boy is trying to be much braver than he feels, but at least he's not that awful grayish-green anymore. "And besides, this adventure hasn't been nearly so bad as you've been saying."

"Let's just get over the bridge," Rose cuts in, "and then you can continue snapping at each other over nothing."

Sighing to himself, Caspian leads his companions onward before they can say anything else. It's an impressive, though crumbling, structure, that speaks of a greater time long gone. The stones are twice as wide as Caspian is tall, and most have the remains of ancient carvings weathered into the faces. Carved images of giants, minotaurs, dreadful gods, and even centipedes stare back at the travelers. Puddleglum would no doubt have a thing or two to say about the tale told on these stones, but the wind blows harsher and harsher with every step they climb - even if he had words, they'd drown against the air. And even better, a good deal of the stones are missing. It makes for a dreadful time, climbing when the wind seems to shake the very bridge loose, but it also takes concentration and that also works to silence everyone.

Glancing back, Caspian finds Eustace surprisingly composed, only a little grayer and sweatier than before. The boy might be having a rather rough time of it, but he never says anything, and he hides his discomfort well. Caspian slows down and waits until Eustace catches up before continuing. He seems to be fine, but the company of a friend is rarely unwelcome in that sort of discomfort.

Eustace starts to attempt a conversation, but the wind whips away his words and Caspian can't even pretend to have heard. So they soldier on, fighting the gusts of cold all the way. The worst bit is when they crest the top of the arch. The wind whips about mercilessly, the cold cuts down to the bone - it's all they can do just to keep their footing. An eagle soars under their feet, visible through one of the larger gaps, and Eustace turns a bit green again.

"Halfway across and no spells yet, Puddleglum," Jill shouts over the whipping wind as they descend the zenith.

"That's to lure us in," Puddleglum calls back, grim as ever. "We'll be turned to piles of ash the moment we make to step off this bridge. And even if we don't, there's no telling what sort of enchantments may be on the road ahead. That's the way of - "

"Adventures. Yes, we know!" Well, Eustace must be feeling better. The green tint has left his face, and even the grey is leaving. The boy's much hardier than he was on the _Dawn Treader,_ and fondness wells in Caspian at the memories.

He glances over at Rose, expecting a retort from her. But she remains focused on the stones beneath her feet, and no quip falls from her lips. Caspian wishes he could go to her, but he knows better. Not now, not in front of the others. Perhaps tonight.

* * *

With the Giant bridge behind them, they only have to find their way through the mountains to get to the City Ruinous. Caspian can only hope they can find the writing Aslan spoke of. The difficulty, presuming they can avoid more giants and the occasional hunting parties of Harfang, will be the ominous clouds ahead. They look like snow, and if it turns into a storm then the trek through the mountain passes will be cold and miserable. Caspian's not entirely confident that he'd know the way in the middle of a snowstorm, and he has no desire to be lost in Giant country. He pushes them onward longer than perhaps he should, but the closer they can get to the city before the storm hits the better.

There's relief all around when he finally relents. Well, from all except Rose. She's kept a tighter silence than usual today, and she won't break it for anything - not Jill's stories, not Eustace's recollections of the _Dawn Treader_ , not for Puddleglum's pessimism. Not for him, either. She's as silent as a grave.

As always, Rose leaves the group the moment dinner is finished for her solitude. Caspian's gaze follows her, tracing the ever-more prominent slump of exhaustion in her shoulders, the growing bow in her back. He had hoped that leaving Rose alone as she wished would help, but now she seems to worsen more than ever. Caspian can't stand by and do nothing, not when she's practically melting away in front of his very eyes. He can't presume to know what she needs, but Caspian is done waiting for Rose to get better on her own. For tonight, at least, she won't be alone to torment herself. For that is what she does - he knows her, and he knows that she blames herself for Darin's murder. Why else would she punish herself so? Why else would she only nibble at dinner when he heard her stomach grumble only minutes prior? No; tonight, he can't leave her to her grief.

Caspian waits until the children are asleep and Puddleglum's snores are loud enough to drown out even the voices of gods. Rose sits a little ways off, huddled against a grey rock almost as tall as her. He watches her for a few moments, just to be sure she hasn't fallen asleep. If by some miracle she has, he has no intention of waking her.

But no, she shifts in her seat, rattling a few pebbles as she moves. So Caspian gets up from his bedroll and pads to her on the quietest feet he can manage. She was always much better at stealth than he was.

"Must we do this again?" Her voice startles him, and now the pebbles dance for Caspian's boots. He swallows the sudden lump in his throat and tries to think of what to say. While he's struggling, Rose speaks again, in that same worn tone that makes him wish that she'd never come with him so she wouldn't be going through this. "There's nothing you can do, Caspian. Go back to bed, please."

This is the gentlest she's yet been with him. Caspian finds the courage, at last, to speak.

"I can't do it, Rose." Caspian wets his lips and tries to keep from crossing his arms. They tremble at his side. "I can't watch you do this, night after night. I can't see you in so much pain and do nothing."

Caspian pauses, waits for an answer from her. He's nervous about what it might be, but better for her to speak and send him away again than sit there silently as if he never spoke at all.

"I'm frightened for you." The words spill out before he can stop them, even before he's thought them. Caspian wonders if he should take them back. Rose still sits in silence, unmoving as a statue. Did she hear him? Is she pretending she didn't?

Caspian swallows his nerves with a gulp of air for his tightening lungs and sits beside her on the rocky ground.

She is truly a statue now; she sits as if frozen by magic or time, and she won't look at him. On a wild impulse, Caspian decides to try his luck tonight. Something is pressing in on his chest, demanding he stay with her, ordering him not to leave her to her own devices again because she needs him. Caspian isn't at all sure about that last bit - Rose has never needed anyone, though wanting is a different story - but the thoughts keep him rooted beside her.

Caspian's hand rises and floats to rest on Rose's shoulder very much of its own accord. She'll likely push him away, and yet Caspian can't seem to make his hand return to his side. It stays there, glued gently to the grieving woman next to him. She stiffens, pulls away for awful moments.

"Just for tonight," Caspian hears himself whispering. "Please, Rose, just for tonight."

She stops shying away. A flicker of hope dances through Caspian's chest, and he hardly dares to breathe.

Rose returns to her position before, making up the inches she moved away.

Caspian's heart stutters. He wants to look over at her, wants to meet her eyes and see how far her acceptance goes, but she still keeps her face turned away. Caspian decides to press his luck anyway. He settles into his pebbled seat and curls his arm around her waist. Little warmth radiates from her, much less than he's used to, and he wonders just how cold she's been, sitting so far away from the group night after night. He doesn't want her to ever be cold again. Caspian's arm tightens, pulls her to him with a tenderness he didn't know he had.

Rose's head tilts to rest against his shoulder. Her cheek is cool through his shirt.

She whispers something, so softly that Caspian can't quite hear what she actually says, but it sounds very much like a repetition of his words from before. "Just for tonight," he thinks she's whispering against his shoulder, breath clouding in the cold. Yes, just for tonight. Caspian's not so much a fool to believe he'll be allowed to comfort her like this more than once in a lifetime. Yet, some stubborn piece of him wishes it could be more than this one night. Now that she's allowed him to keep her from her loneliness, he doesn't want to return her to its cruel clutches any time soon. He's glad that the hours until morning are many.

Rose's breaths even out slowly over the hours, and when Caspian finally musters the resolve to look down into her face, he's met with closed eyes. Has she...? Yes, by the Mane she has, and Caspian dares not even breathe too deeply. He sits there, paralyzed for fear of waking her. He's not sure, but he suspects this is the first real sleep she's had in over a week.

After a little while, Caspian feels her trembling, shivering. He shouldn't, but he pulls her closer anyway. It does stop her shivering. The hours pass, with her hair tickling his chin, until the sky lightens and Rose starts to stir. Only when the sun floods the horizon does she fully awake.

Caspian wants to ask if she'll be all right, but Rose won't meet his eyes. Jill, Eustace, and Puddleglum haven't woken yet, thank the Lion, but they won't stay asleep for much longer. The Marshwiggle is an early riser, at least on adventures. Caspian still has a few minutes to try and convince her not to shut him out again.

"Rose - "

"It won't happen again."

Her whispered words are exactly what he expected, but his heart sinks just the same. Caspian can't cling to the foolish hope that she might not pull away when she's so blatantly doing it now.

"You don't have to push me away."

Rose hesitates in her haste to walk away, almost as if she might reply. Caspian doesn't realize he's holding his breath until she walks away without looking back.

Throughout breakfast and on into the morning, Rose won't - perhaps can't - even look at him. It seems now that she allowed him to comfort her, she has to ice him out more than ever before. Guilt starts to prick at Caspian's conscience as the group continues on through the mountains. He wants to apologize, though he's not sure what exactly he'd be apologizing for. Comforting her? But he can't be sorry for that, not when she finally slept.

* * *

They press on, ever closer to the Ruined City, as the clouds thicken with the promise of snow. The temperature seems to drop more every hour, and if the clouds reach them it's very likely they will have a blizzard on their hands. Caspian knows that Jill and Eustace would fare rather poorly in such weather, in spite of their best intentions. He hasn't heard of any blizzards in England.

It's a long, trudging sort of day, one where the wind itself seems to push them back. Caspian keeps them going as long as he can, but by sundown they haven't made nearly as much progress as he wanted, and the clouds loom ever closer. The snowstorm could be upon them as early as tomorrow, and it simply isn't possible to reach the Ruined City before then. It's a melancholy evening, one spent huddled around the first fire Caspian's allowed. It's a risk, but the children need the warmth, and he hopes that the cave they found for the night will keep the smoke from being too horribly obvious.

Rose tries to block the entrance with him, though stones are little help. Caspian is hoping she won't retreat to the edge of the campsite again, that she'll at least take advantage of the warmth of the fire.

But she says, "With that fire, you need someone on watch more than ever," and sits with the stones for company. Alone, in her self-imposed solitude.

Caspian tries to sit with her again. He gets close enough to see the shivers racking her body.

"It was just for last night. Go back to the fire," Rose says, stopping him from advancing further. His heart sinks at the tremor in her voice. She must be cold, so far from the fire.

He tries not to sigh as he leaves her be. Pushing her does not usually end well, and moreover, Caspian is still unsure what she needs from him. He has no wish to contribute to her loneliness, but he can't worsen her guilt either. Refusing comfort may be a comfort to her itself. But still, he wishes she wouldn't.

* * *

The next day, on the road, Caspian finally decides that enough is enough. Rose may not want to take care of herself, but today she's stumbling more than walking and with the threat of a snowstorm within the next few hours, Caspian simply cannot wait for her to grieve differently. She won't last long in a blizzard, and he refuses to lose her to the weather. If the snake didn't steal her life away, it would be foolish to let winter do it right in front of him.

Caspian knows well Rose will not speak to him at all if anyone else can hear - she's always been stubbornly private. So he sends the children and Puddleglum off to catch any fowl they can find and ignores the impending snow.

"Snow is coming," Caspian begins, mouth dry with apprehension. Rose won't take this well, he knows, but it's got to be done. "You need to rest, Rose. You won't be any good in a storm."

Rose shrugs and refuses to meet his eyes. "I'm fine."

Lion, how he's tried to be patient with her. He wants to be patient with her still, but if she continues like this it's almost certain she will take ill. Caspian tells her so, and his only reward is a stiffening of her jaw. Rose is angry, but what else can he do? He cannot lose her, and especially not here.

"I know you're not. Darin wouldn't want this."

"Darin's not here," Rose bites back. But he hears the pain underneath the anger, understands that being angry is the only way she's holding herself together.

"He would be even more worried than I am." Perhaps he shouldn't push her so. But one glance up at the sky keeps Caspian's determination up. At the very least, Rose needs to rest.

Rose looks down at the ground, and Caspian wonders if she's fighting tears like he thinks she is. "Don't presume," she says, with far less of the bite than Caspian was expecting.

"I don't wish to," Caspian manages. "But - "

"All right," Rose interrupts in a whisper. "I'll rest. Tonight."

Caspian wishes very much that he could believe her. If she were meeting his gaze, he'd know she meant it. But still, she looks anywhere at all but him, and he knows she has no intention of actually resting. She'll lie silently without allowing herself to sleep. It's her way.

"I meant my words last night. I'm frightened for you, that's all."

Rose practically shrugs away the words - she turns away from him and starts walking. "A storm's coming, yes? We shouldn't waste time."

There's little to be done, because Caspian does not want to push her any more today. Perhaps tonight, he can try again, but for now she's right. With the threat of snow, best to keep going and give her some time to consider what he's said.

* * *

Jill, Eustace, and Puddleglum didn't get too far, and it's a short walk to catch up. Rose stays stubbornly ahead, almost as if she's trying to prove her strength. Caspian wishes she wouldn't, but he's not about to order her otherwise. It's not his place - he's already said his piece.

"There you are! Oh we've got some wonderful news!" cries Jill when she spots them approaching. The young girl sprints to meet Caspian and Rose, looking far more cheerful than she's been since the quest began.

"Good news is welcome," Rose answers before Caspian can. "We're all in need of it, I think."

"We've come by a bit of good counsel," says Eustace.

"And from a most lovely lady too!" Jill pipes in. "Since winter's a-coming, she told us of these wonderful Gentle Giants who live in Harfang. They're quite the opposite of those beastly things we met in Ettinsmoor."

"And all we've got to do is reach Harfang rather close to noon, else the doors will be locked. There's to be an Autumn Feast," says Eustace.

Now Caspian likes the sound of this less and less the more the children prattle on, and he finds himself agreeing with Puddleglum's sentiment straightaway.

"Not that we know a thing about this lady, or what her business be in Giantland. She's bound to be up to no good, Sire. And that silent chap with her, an armored knight that mayn't have been a knight at all."

"Oh Puddlelglum, do stop all this nonsense," comes Eustace's cry before Caspian can get a word in. "You've said nothing but how awful adventures are, and none of it's been nearly so bad as you've been saying. There's no harm in getting a hot bath and a warm room for the night."

Caspian has his own ideas about just how trustworthy a lady in the wilds of the North might be, but Rose suddenly straightens, eyes glistening with some strange emotion Caspian can't quite name. It's a gleam of revenge, of anger, of pain, of sorrow, of resolve - so many things at once he's not sure if it's all of them or none of them.

"What did she look like, this lady you met?" Rose asks, with a chill to rival the incoming winter storm in her voice.

Jill answers with ease. Can she really be oblivious? Is the idea of hot soup so seductive?

"Well, she was quite pretty, and she trilled her r's so delightfully. And what a scrumptious dress she had!"

Rose's eyes gleam again with that strange light that steals Caspian's words away. "What color?"

"Why, just the most vibrant green you've ever seen," says Jill.

At once, Caspian understands why Rose has slowly gotten the look of a murderess.

"You fools!" he cries. "That lady is the witch who stole my son!"


	13. Lost in the Blizzard

**(Rose POV)**

Jill and Eustace whiten at once. Eustace stands as still as ice and stares at Caspian's dawning rage. Jill tries to get words past her lips, but all that comes out is a strangled sort of blubbering. I watch Caspian's reddening face in silence, and when he starts shouting about finding the witch the words just fade away into the frosty air. Some awful sort of weight, a choking, breaking pressure keeps me in place. Darin's body dances in and out of my vision, the two puncture marks of a snake standing out as bright as twin flames. My arms tremble at my side, and my legs won't move even when I tell them to. I want...I want to follow her, find her, make her pay for...

The weight presses harder, and my stomach rolls. I want him back, that's what I really want.

"Rose, come on!"

That's Caspian. I should move, I should go help him. But how to make my legs move, when they only want to buckle beneath me and cradle a body I know isn't there? Those bite marks flicker in my vision, taunting me. Isn't this what I wanted? To avenge him, find some peace in making the witch pay for stealing him from me? Isn't that what I'm supposed to do?

I remember Rilian, and Caspian calls to me again. We're meant to be searching for him, rescuing him. But at this moment, all I want to do is rescue the one person I know can't be rescued at all.

Normally, this sort of incapacitation happens at night. Gritting my teeth, I push the ghosts from my mind. I'm not going to be weak, not now when she's so close...

She's close. At last, this fact clicks in my mind and propels me after Caspian, my feet pounding relentlessly against the frozen ground. Maybe we can still catch her. If only Caspian hadn't been so foolishly concerned with my health we might have seen her ourselves! Bitterness squeezes at my chest, sours in my stomach. He should know by now that I can take care of myself.

I catch up to him quickly, the winter air sharp in my lungs. We race together over the plains, frost flying up at our heels and soaking into my shoes. We search for her, for an odd spot of green against a barren landscape. We soon split up, the better to cover more ground. In truth, I'm a bit relieved to gain distance from Caspian's cursing.

For hours we search, until the first flurries of the impending storm float down. Nothing. Were it not for the ridiculous star-struck words of the children, it wouldn't be so hard to believe they'd imagined the whole thing. No sign of anyone do we find, not even a hoof print to mark the passing of her steed. No knights, no ladies, no horses, no signs of anything but a blizzard on its way. That sour, bitter feeling settles deep in my stomach, and it's not just the snow or wind that chills me to the bone. How could she disappear so thoroughly? She couldn't have had more than half an hour's head start.

When the snow starts whipping about in earnest, Caspian has no choice but to call off the search. The acerbity in his voice snaps me from my daze. This is the closest I've seen him to hate.

"We're terribly sorry," says Jill when the five of us are together again, trudging through snow that deepens every moment. "If we'd known..." The poor girl trails off, words lost to the swirling storm.

"Come now, Pole, it's not as if we could expect any better. Why, in this storm, she'll likely sneak up on us and kill us quick as you please." Good old Puddleglum, always finding a way to make things sound even worse. This time his melancholy mutterings actually appeal to me, if only for the thought of being put out of misery.

"There's little to be done now, I suppose," Eustace shouts over the storm. "Best press on, and find that castle. Harfang, wasn't it? I daresay we could use the warm baths."

Caspian answers with a voice as cold as the wind pushing us about. "We will do no such thing."

"Even for the Autumn Feast?" Jill's voice sounds incredibly small, and for a moment I almost pity her. Guilt and exhaustion are heavy things to carry, especially in such serious company.

"Especially for the Autumn Feast!" Caspian booms. His anger sends chills racing over my arms; he's always been much gentler with the children, and it's almost frightening to see this fierceness from him. "That witch has no other goal than to destroy my country, and rest assured our demise would please her greatly!"

"Caspian," I whisper, laying a frost-white hand on his shoulder. "They're only children." I hope the snow keeps my words from reaching the others, but I suppose calming Caspian is more important than anything right now.

"Even children should know better." Caspian shakes my hand away and refuses to look at me. I like Jill and Eustace much less than he does, but I'm not sure he's being fair. They didn't know, and what good could a child's sense be against the magic of a witch? And besides, finding her will not bring Darin back, nor Lilliandil.

I leave Caspian alone at the head of our little group and fall in next to Jill. She's shivering horribly, and pale with more than cold. Perhaps the witch has some magic hold on her still? Or perhaps this adventure is just more than she ever bargained for, more than she was ready for.

"Don't worry too much, Jill. I think you probably couldn't help it. You're not used to magic."

Jill shrugs, but her shoulders don't slump quite so far. I still want to try and ease her guilt, though I'm not entirely sure where this sudden streak of compassion is coming from.

"Come on, let's think of something else. What are the signs Aslan told you to remember?" Thinking of Aslan should help.

To my surprise, Jill stops in her tracks and lets out a little wail through her fingertips. "Oh Rose, I think...I can't...oh dear, I can't recall them!"

Poor Jill is almost as white as the snow gusting around us. I steel my features against disappointment and try to calm her, stilling her hands from flapping around her neck.

"Of course you can," I call, straining to make my voice heard above the wailing of the wind. "The first one was to find an old friend, remember?"

Jill shivers and wraps her arms around her chest, tucking her fingertips under her arms.

"Come on, Pole," Eustace chimes in with blue lips all a-tremble. "Second one was to...to...blast it. Oh! To travel north to the Ruined City."

"And the third was to find writing in the city and to do what that writing tells us." Jill slowly brightens, looking less and less like a defeated puppy. "Yes, I'm remembering now. And the last is how we're to know Prince Rilian - that he shall be the first in our travels to ask us to do something in the name of Aslan."

"There you are, Jill," I say. "We've all remembered them, and we're on our way to finding the city now."

* * *

By sundown the snow storm has escalated to a full blizzard. We can barely see our hands in front of our faces, and so we walk arm in arm so no one will be lost. With the howling wind, even shouts are hard to hear.

Not even the thick winter cloaks we brought help much - they've been soaked through, leaving bitter wet cold to cling to our skin. Jill shivers violently to my right, and even Caspian on my left can't keep from shaking.

I've no idea how we can expect to find a city in the midst of this. We can barely see each other.

Caspian, formerly so confident, has to stop many times. He peers this way and that, and each time we stop the Giant city feels further and further away. We'll accomplish nothing until the snow ceases.

"Caspian," I yell. The cold bites at my throat. "We should stop."

Twice I try to tell him we need shelter, that this whole enterprise is useless until the snow stops. But he presses on still, tugging me along when I try to stand still and make him listen.

Eventually we do stop, hours later. It takes a long time to find any kind of shelter - and we find only a ring of boulders slightly larger than me to hunker down behind. It shields us from the brunt of the wind, but I worry we'll be buried alive by the time we wake.

The five of us bed down pressed up against each other for warmth, and I wind up curled into Caspian's chest. Neither of us really sleeps.

* * *

The blizzard keeps up for several days, as best I can estimate. Minutes feel like hours in this weather, the worst kind of winter I've experienced. Even in Telmara, we never had storms this terrible.

The snow begins to let up, just enough that we can see each other without traveling arm-in-arm. The scenery starts to change from flat and rocky to steep slopes and strange cliffs on looming ahead. The ground, already slippery, steepens dramatically, leaving the five of us to stumble and slip on ice. The banks ahead are at least as tall as Puddleglum, perhaps a bit taller, and go on as far as I can see on either side. There's nothing for it - we'll have to climb.

So climb we do, one bank after another. Puddleglum and Caspian give the children a boost first, then me. Caspian follows, and the four of us haul Puddleglum to the top last. It's a terrible frigid business, and we're constantly slipping and sliding about. The snow gives us some traction, but the ice underneath is unforgiving. The children are positively miserable.

For a brief moment, it occurs to me that these strange, steep ledges are more like stacked blocks, almost like stairs. But then Jill slips and almost falls over the ledge, and it's back to struggling up, up, always up against the wind and the snow that sometimes plops from the ledge above onto our heads. The thought, whatever it was, is gone as quickly as it came.

It doesn't get any better. Once we've cleared the ledges, we've only just enjoyed the flat ground when Jill disappears from sight with a scream and a rush of snow and sludge.

"Jill!" I sprint forward at once with Puddleglum at my side, and we skid to a stop where the snow has given way and taken Jill with it.

"Pole?" Eustace rushes to the edge, his sudden stop sending puffs of snow hurling into the trench.

"What devilry is this?" Caspian mutters as he comes to stand beside me. A chasm several feet deep yawns before us, Jill only just visible in the dark.

"I'm all right!" she calls. "Just some old trench. Oh, but it _is_ so much nicer out of the wind!"

A particularly violent gust of wind shoves me toward the very edge, and Puddleglum just barely catches my cloak before I tip over and join Jill. But Eustace perks up and jostles Caspian beside me.

"How's about using that trench to travel?" the boy shouts, barely heard over the screaming of the blizzard. "As Pole said, it'd be awfully nice to get out of this wind. And look, it runs due north!"

"A fine idea. We can't see anything up here anyway," I offer. It's a steep drop, but the temptation of relief from the worst of the blizzard is too seductive to ignore.

"Begging your pardon," says Puddleglum, having only just let go of my cloak. "But we had best draw our swords. No telling what sorts of monsters might be lurking about down there. Why, they've probably got the same idea as us. I shouldn't wonder if we stumble over some poor chap's bones on our way."

"Oh stop it!" Eustace answers rather crossly. "What sort of monster would be out in weather like this? It might be a sunken road of some sort. I say, Pole, is there any snow down there?"

"Not very much at all," Jill calls back. "It all blows over the top, I suppose."

Caspian speaks up for the first time since Jill fell in. "Where does it lead?"

"Half a sec. I'll go and see." Jill follows the trench onward only to shout back, "There's a sharp turn up ahead. I don't think it leads anywhere much." Jill's voice shakes just a little.

"Very likely it leads into a dragon's cave," Puddleglum offers. "Or perhaps a monster's lair. We've likely woken it already, I shouldn't wonder."

Eustace appears to lose his patience rather quickly. "Oh hang it all! I'm jolly well having a look," he says while sliding down into the trench in a small avalanche of snow and slush. "I'd like to know what you mean by anywhere much."

"Eustace!" I shout after him. I don't usually put much stock in Puddleglum's miserable mutterings, but here in Giant country I'd rather not take my chances. Dragons are out of the question, but monsters might not be. Or perhaps it's just this terrible blizzard muddling with my head.

But the blond boy is disappearing around the sharp bend with Jill tight on his heels, hunched over and looking rather like someone who is quite nervous and trying very hard not to appear so.

"That's the end of those two, I suppose," says Puddleglum, his hat flopping down over his eyes and blowing snow flurries into my face. "We'll hear a good scream, from Scrubb as likely as Pole, and we'll be down to three."

I try to tune him out, but Caspian's face is reddening. He's either very cold or very quickly losing patience with Puddleglum's morose commentary. "Puddleglum, please," I say. "You're not really helping."

"That's the spirit," says the Marshwiggle, rubbing his hands together gleefully. "Now we're sure to get into another row. Why I shouldn't be surprised if I froze out here tonight. I would be ever so grateful if you both could lay me to rest peacefully, though I'm sure the rations will have disappeared in the snow and you'll be forced to consider certain abominable ends for my remains."

Before I can figure out how to calm Caspian, he's exploding. "That is quite enough!" he thunders. "Puddleglum, if your only use is thinking of the worst, I beg you find another -"

"It's a dead end!" Eustace's call breaks what was sure to be a nasty row, or at the very least a nasty suggestion.

I breathe a sigh of relief and grasp Caspian's forearm. He shrugs away.

"There were two other corners, and none of them led anywhere," Jill adds, still hunched over and looking a bit unnerved. "I suppose it's back to the storm."

Puddleglum wastes no time in pulling the two children up the snow bank. They both curl into themselves at the new onslaught of the storm, looking like they would give anything to go back into that trench.

"Now Caspian," Eustace begins with chattering teeth. "Hear me out. I know you've not had the best experiences with Giants, but Harfang -"

At once, Caspian's remaining thin patience snaps. "Harfang?!" he bellows. "Fools! Those Giants would sooner eat you than feed you!"

"At the very least, one wouldn't be so cold boiling alive in someone else's stew!" Jill looks very close to tears, with her lip all a-tremble and her face all scrunched up. I feel a brief flash of pity for her.

"Here, let's take some rest in the trench," I cut in before Caspian can reply. "Before you all tear each other's throats out."

Jill sniffles. "And how are we to get back out again?"

"Don't look a gift horse in the mouth, Pole. We can scramble out well enough."

"Supposing we aren't buried in snow, that is."

With Puddleglum's unwelcome reminder of the blizzard attempting to flay our skin from our bones, our miserable little group slides down into the trench. At once, the wind ceases to assault us so. Even the bitter cold seems just a little better being out of the brunt of the storm.

Caspian leads us to the first corner, the one Jill was so nervous about, and there we bed down. It may or may not be night, but we're all tired. Even so, Caspian's eyes are heavy on me. I know I promised to get some rest tonight, but even a blizzard hasn't tempted me with sleep. I'll just lie still and pretend, at least until Caspian's asleep.

Unfortunately, he takes the watch. He brushes past me as he moves to the outside of our tight little circle, no doubt to remind me of my promise. I avoid his gaze but make a point of not contesting him. There's been enough squabbling for one day. I lie down, but as I expected sleep eludes me.

Halfway through the night, Eustace comes to relieve Caspian. To my surprise, Caspian agrees, and within moments he's bedding down right beside me, blocking some of the cold. Perhaps it's the new warmth that finally lulls me off to sleep, or perhaps it's those strange moments right before sleep when my mind tells me it's Darin's hand on my back. Whatever the case, I wake slowly some time later, with a fresh pang of grief when I remember where I am and who is not sleeping beside me. But the absence of my husband is almost forgotten when I notice the two empty spots where Jill and Eustace should be.

They're gone.


	14. Guests at Harfang

**(Caspian POV)**

The fools have gone to Harfang and to their deaths.

Caspian scrambles out of the trench on his hands and knees on the desperate chance that the two children haven't gotten far. But though the blizzard has calmed, Jill and Eustace are nowhere in sight. Even the tracks they must have left are blown away, obliterated by the miserable weather.

"Any sign of them?" Rose calls. Her hand is warm on his shoulder, even through the winter air.

Caspian bites his tongue against a sharp retort and settles for a grim shake of his head. "None. The snow covered their tracks."

"We'll be joining them, I gather?" Puddleglum emerges from the trench with the remainder of their supplies in tow. "After all, it would be terribly inconsiderate to leave them on their own in the stewpot."

Caspian nearly cracks a smile, even though nothing in this situation is very funny at all. "The Giants of Harfang prefer to eat man-meat in pies. Though you, my dear Marshwiggle, may yet escape their clutches. Marshwiggles are considered to have a terrible flavor." Caspian realizes that he's being quite morose, but the odd urge to chuckle remains.

Rose stares at him like he's finally and truly lost his mind, but Puddleglum merely nods along. "Ah, but surely those Giants have some creative sorts of spices. Best to put a bold face on it, Your Majesty - we're all quite sure to be piecemeal in the Giants' bellies by noon tomorrow." At this, Puddleglum smiles what is probably meant to be a merry, comforting smile but turns out quite a bit closer to a grimace. "But the bright side of it is, we won't be abandoning those children."

"Indeed," Rose answers, her mouth twisted unhappily. "Let's be off before you think of any other bright sides."

Caspian is quick to follow on her heels, regretting very quickly his decision to practically crawl up the trench and soak his breeches and sleeves clean through. "If we hurry," he says, "we can reach the gate before it closes."

Puddleglum joins them quickly, though it seems he still hasn't said his fill. "And we must tell them we've been sent for the Autumn Feast, just as that witch said," the Marshwiggle states. "We'd be sorry chaps indeed if we forgot our manners even in the face of the stewpot."

"The pie dish, you mean." Rose's voice is odd, as if she can't decide whether to be amused or terrified. When Caspian glances over at her, she's gnawing at her bottom lip with her mouth quirked in an unwilling half-grin and her eyes cold with fear.

* * *

The storm worsens again as the trio make their way across a giant flat-topped hill to Harfang. Its deceptively welcoming lights glimmer in the distance, bright with the seductive promise of roaring fires and good food. At least, that's how the children must have seen it. Caspian sees the promise of danger. The children were willing to take the word of a witch over his.

Caspian's stomach practically boils, and not from hunger. Perhaps she used magic on them. Perhaps they couldn't really help it; after all, Eustace made it quite clear that their world didn't have such adventures as these. Jill in particular mustn't be used to trekking through blizzards and resisting evil spells. And Eustace's time on the _Dawn Treader_ clearly didn't teach him as much about magic as Caspian had hoped.

Out of nowhere, Rose stumbles and nearly falls on her face into the snow. Caspian curses, but she's righted herself before he can lift a finger to help.

"Rose?"

She shrugs away his concern, and suddenly Rose is about as warm as the blizzard.

"Oh dear," says Puddleglum. "We'll have quite the time trying to get away if one of us were to fall ill. Though at least one wouldn't have the sniffles after being cooked in a pie."

"As right as you are, do shut up." Rose grimaces though, and Caspian nearly lectures her then and there.

This is why he wanted her to take better care of herself. Quests are unpredictable beasts, and her weakness slows the entire group. Perhaps if they have time to linger at Harfang, he can see to it that she does as she promised.

* * *

Within a few hours, they arrive at the gate. Harfang itself is more like a large mansion than a house, and completely undefended by moat or guard. Caspian expected something a bit more austere, but perhaps the homeliness of this place is no accident; it's a tempting lure for poor human travelers. Though its numerous towers are imposing, the windows are rather close to the ground and the doors are spotted all over the structure, not just at the courtyard. The warm, fiery glow from the windows cuts through the storm and makes Harfang seem more like an oversized hybrid of the Telmarine castle and a countryside holiday house than a castle of dangerous, man-eating Giants.

Though Caspian considers himself to have a healthy store of courage, Puddleglum is the one who marches up to the huge doors and knocks for the porter. "Ho there, Porter! Guests seeking lodging," the Marshwiggle calls.

"Very bold, Puddleglum," Rose offers through clenched, chattering teeth.

The Marshwiggle knocks the snow from his hat brim as they wait. "We've got a put a bold face on all this, haven't we?"

Caspian claps Puddleglum on the back. "Quite so."

The door before them creaks open and a hairy, unpleasant-looking Giant stands before them.

"What sort of business do you have here?" he says, towering over them as tall as an apple tree.

Caspian attempts to look friendly. "Good day to you and salutations to the King of the Gentle Giants. We've been sent for the Autumn Feast. I believe our two youngest companions have already arrived?"

The Porter looks them up and down. In spite of himself, Caspian nearly squirms.

"Oh-ho!" booms the Giant, his mail shirt jingling. "A warm welcome then. Come in, come in. The King will be most pleased, most pleased indeed. Do come into the lodge."

Caspian takes Rose's hand in his without knowing why and strides into the homely lodge with his head held high.

"Blue faces from the cold, eh?" The Porter chuckles to himself as if sharing a private joke and ushers them toward a roaring fire consuming at least four trees. "Not naturally that color, I s'pose?"

Rose stares up at the red-haired Giant with unamused befuddlement. "No," she answers. "Of course they're not."

The Porter bellows a most unpleasant, bone-shaking laugh and gestures to another smaller, curly-haired Giant. Caspian stands closer to Rose, resting one hand on her back and the other on his sword hilt.

"Tell His Majesty that the Lady of the Green Kirtle has sent two more fair Southerners for the Autumn Feast, with her salutations," says the Porter, grinning to the young messenger rather eerily. The young Giant scurries off, leaving Caspian and his fellows with the Porter.

"Come on then," Puddleglum says unexpectedly. "We may as well gather close to the fire. Though we'll surely be scorched if we get too close, or if one of those oversized logs comes rolling out and squashes us."

Rose says nothing but she moves as close to the fire as she can manage, bringing Caspian with her. The heat is incredible, such that Caspian grows a bit worried their clothes will burst into flames if they move any closer. But Rose seems comfortable, huddled before the blaze with her hands extended and her face aglow.

"Well now," says the Porter, "You all look as though you could use a bit of cheering-up." The Giant produces a large, black bottle nearly as tall as Caspian, but otherwise rather like Puddelglum's bottle back at his wigwam. "Let me see. You'll drown yourselves if I give you a cup, even if the three of you work at it."

Rose casts a wary glance at the Porter, and Caspian doesn't feel much better. As pleasant as spirits would be to warm the belly, he would much rather have all his wits about him when meeting Harfang's Giant King. It would be a disaster if he were to blurt out his real name, for example. As the Porter casts about for a more appropriate vessel for the offered liquor, Caspian leans in very close to Rose and whispers as quietly as he dares.

"I can't give my proper name," he explains. "I'm not Caspian here."

Rose seems quite unsurprised. "Who are you then?"

Caspian racks his brain for a suitable moniker, but the best he can come up with is something with an X. "X...Xander?"

"Xander?" Rose hisses back. "What in the Lion's Mane kind of name is that?"

At once, the Porter unwittingly saves Caspian from further embarrassment. "I expect you three can make do with a salt-cellar. It should be just the thing, though I've only got the one. You needn't mention it over at the House." The Porter fills the make-shift cup to the brim and sets it on the floor between Puddleglum and Caspian.

Caspian frantically tries to think up some courteous excuse for refusing when Puddleglum picks up the cup.

"It's rather late to be thinking of precautions now that we're inside and the door shut behind us," says the admittedly plucky Marshwiggle. After giving the drink a good strong sniff, Puddleglum declares that though it smells just fine, it's nothing to go by. And just to make sure, Puddleglum takes one sip.

Caspian closely observes Puddleglum for any sign of magical disaster, but the Marshwiggle seems rather all right, if a bit flushed from the heat of the fire and the drink.

"Tastes all right," Puddleglum says of the drink. "But it might do that at the first sip. How does it go on? It simply wouldn't do for Your Majesty to contract some hideous enchantment or illness." Puddleglum takes quite a bigger sip than before, and again Caspian's fears go unfounded. Well, his fears of enchantment that is - he's still hideously worried that someone will have a bit too much and blurt out the whole quest to the King of Harfang. Rose, on the other hand, appears entirely absorbed in the fire and pays the whole business with the drink no mind.

"I do appreciate your great courtesy, Puddleglum," says Caspian. "But I wonder if it wouldn't be best - "

"You needn't worry yourself, Sire," says the Marshwiggle. "It tastes as fine as it smells. All the same, I had best be sure there's nothing nasty at the bottom." And before Caspian can say another word more, Puddleglum finishes the drink and goes rather glassy-eyed. "This'll be a test, you see. If I curl up, or burst, or turn into a lizard, then you and Rose will know not to take anything they offer you."

A bit too late, Caspian comes to the sudden, painful realization that Puddleglum is entirely ignorant of his make-do name for their time at Harfang.

"Puddleglum, I'm terribly sorry but I fear I may have neglected to mention something of great importance - "

"Why Froggy," the Porter interrupts with a great roar of laughter, "you're a man. See him put it away!"

Caspian tries to shake the vagueness from Puddleglum, but the Marshwiggle replies to the Porter instead, saying, "Not a man...Marshwiggle. Not frog either: Marshwiggle." And no matter how Caspian tries to get Puddleglum's attention, the old fool just keeps muttering "Marshwiggle" in that indistinct, wobbly voice.

"Respectowiggle," Puddleglum insists just as the young Giant returns and begins insisting that they must go to the throne-room at once.

The Porter's ugly, hairy face is all pinched, and he lets out sporadic, shouting roars of merriment. "Show them the way," the Porter says to the young messenger. "You'd better carry Froggy. He's had a drop more than's good for him."

Amidst Puddleglum's insistent mutterings that nothing at all is the matter with him and he's really a "repectabiggle," Rose darts to Caspian's side and suddenly looks quite worried.

"You didn't have any run-ins with the Gentle Giants during that war in Ettinsmoor, did you? You won't be recognized?"

Caspian grimaces. "It's a bit late for that," he whispers back. "But I believe they were all Ettins." He winds an arm around Rose's waist to steady her, and his own unease is mirrored on her face.

With Puddleglum caught in the messenger Giant's fist, Caspian and Rose hurry to keep up. Caspian rather wishes they could have spent a bit longer with the fire. Rose's hands are still rather cold, and the quick crossing through the courtyard does her no favors. Yet when Caspian tries to maintain his hold on her, Rose breaks away.

"I'm quite capable of walking, you know," she whispers sourly.

Caspian shakes his head at her stubbornness and hopes that Harfang proper is as warm as the Porter's lodge.

Thankfully, a few corridors later, Caspian finds himself in an enormous room with an even bigger fire blazing in the hearth. On either side of the group, countless Giants stand watching them with un-veiled curiosity. More than they could ever hope to take on in combat. Caspian is relatively sure he could take one or two with Rose's help, but there are many dozens, perhaps hundreds, here. And ahead, the two largest Giants of all sit on thrones thrice as tall as Caspian himself. The King of Harfang and his Queen.

The young Giant carrying a still-babbling Puddleglum stops perhaps ten paces away. Caspian bows simply, as a village man would, and Rose curtsies rather stiffly. The Giant beside them places Puddleglum on the floor. Caspian can't help but think that in spite of the Marshwiggle's nickname from the Giants, he really looks more akin to a large spider than a frog, with his spindly limbs splayed about haphazardly.

Caspian clears his throat, ready to repeat his greeting to the Porter, but Rose speaks just as he starts to open his mouth.

"Greetings, Sire. We follow our two younger companions who may have arrived here early this morning. The Lady of the Green Kirtle salutes you and has sent us for your Autumn Feast. If you'll have us."

The king and queen smile at each other in a rather sinister way, and Caspian gets the distinct notion that his guess of their being cooked into a man-pie might not have been off the mark at all. And when the king's large, obnoxiously red tongue lumbers out across his lips, Caspian has a terrible thought that they've come too late, that the Giants have already eaten Jill and Eustace and the three of them will follow before the day's end.

"Oh how good of you!" says the Queen. "How wonderful, that you have come to join those dear children."

Caspian nearly sags in relief, for had the children truly come to such a horrible end he simply would never have forgiven himself. But Aslan still watches over them, that much is clear.

"Quite so," says the King. "We welcome you to our court." The King extends his hand, which is nearly as large as Caspian's entire torso, and winds up shaking his and Rose's arms. When the gesture is complete, the King turns to Puddleglum, still sprawled on the floor. "And what is that?"

"Reshpecktobiggle," says Puddleglum.

The Queen lets out a shrill, ringing scream and clutches her skirts. "Oh, what a horrid thing! It's alive!"

"As strange as he looks, Your Majesty," Rose hurries to say, "he's quite a good soul."

"Quite so," Caspian chimes in. "He's only a bit muddled by the terrible cold we've come from. I do believe you may find him much more agreeable once he is himself again."

The Queen stares down at Puddleglum like one looks at a reprehensible cockroach right before squashing it, but her revulsion turns in their favor.

"Very well," shudders the Queen. "Just get it out of here. Oh do get it out! Take them to those dear children, their lovely companions. Well go on! Quickly!"

And so Caspian finds himself in the grasp of a Giant gentleman-in-waiting along with Puddleglum. Rose, naturally, is taken up by a Giant lady-in-waiting, and Caspian can only hope they are able to find each other later.

* * *

Caspian is not one to concern himself with age, but among the Giants age suddenly becomes a most pressing matter. Here he is, a grown man of well over forty years, being treated as "such a small thing" and "rather youthful for his age" (though how the Giants can guess at his age, Caspian has no idea.) His hair has just begun to show hints of silver, but aside from that and the worry lines in his brow, Caspian likes to think his age is not readily apparent. What he is most sure of is that he has done nothing, absolutely nothing in his life, to deserve such treatment as he is now receiving.

Caspian had high hopes that he would be roomed with Eustace or Puddleglum, perhaps even both of them, but he finds himself rather alone with a young, curly-haired Giant gentleman-in-waiting who insists on helping him out of his (admittedly worn) traveling clothes, into a luxurious bath, and then into thicker, obnoxiously green clothes. At the sight of the color Caspian nearly purples with rage, but contains himself at the last moment with a dim smile and muttered words of gratitude that, he realizes afterward, did not sound very grateful at all.

Thankfully, the Giant brings in a human-sized table and chair and Caspian's mood recovers at the sight of cock-a-leekie soup, roast turkey, steamed puddling, roast chestnuts and as much fruit as he could possibly eat. Caspian hesitates only a moment before tucking in, his hunger overriding his caution with disturbing ease. Every bite is delicious, and Caspian starts to understand the draw of Harfang. The witch spoke true of Harfang's virtues, that much cannot be doubted.

Unfortunately for Caspian, his gentleman-in-waiting keeps coming in and out bearing the most hideously colored toys, crudely made and insulting in their childishness. Caspian tries to tell the Giant that there's really no need for such oddities and that he's quite pleased with dinner and a bath, but the Giant harrumphs. The booming scoff is unsettling enough that Caspian does not protest again, no matter how much he wishes to. Instead, he settles for ignoring the ever-growing assortment of horses and play jousting spears, wooden swords and badly chipped helmets.

"There. Even older little people must want a bit of play-time, mustn't they?"

Caspian twists his mouth and tries not to look as insulted as he feels. He treats the Giant's absurd notion the same way he treated the unwanted toys.

The Giant then offers to tuck Caspian into bed, and Caspian tells the gentleman, as kindly as he can, that he'd prefer to tuck himself in and that such drawn-out goodnights are really much more trouble than they're worth. And so Caspian evades the indignity of being tucked into bed like a fussy child and loses himself to a fitful, dreamless sleep.


	15. Jill's Dream

**(Rose POV)**

For me, a woman who prides herself on independence, the Giantess's treatment is worse than insulting. I am a good three years into my forties, and yet this clueless monster feels sure she must help me take a bath and dry myself and get into the obnoxiously yellow dress she fetches for me. And of course she won't stop talking, prattling on and on about "that horrid frog-man" and "how terrible" it must have been to travel with him. And for all the Giantess's supposed sympathy, I can't get half a syllable in. She talks right over me as if she can't hear a word I'm saying, and Lion help me when she starts spouting about rocking horses and dolls I could swear I grow quite red in the face. Apparently to the Harfang Giants, being small is the equivalent of being a child.

"Really, Madam, I so appreciate all you've done but I must insist, there's no need for such youthful trinkets - "

"There's a duck, plenty of toys to keep you happy," says the Giantess while carting a particularly ridiculous blue sheep toy into the room. "Such a dear thing! Even at this age, such a sweet poppet."

Though I'm dry, well-fed, and relatively comfortable in my new warm clothes, it takes a good deal of restraint to keep my temper in check. "I thank you for your astounding hospitality, I truly do, but I assure you - "

"And such a bed! Pretty little ones always like bedtime stories," the Giantess continues, as if I've not spoken a word.

" - I'm quite comfortable. And I have no need for a bedtime story!" My voice reaches an odd, strangled crescendo but this seems to work in my favor, as the Giantess starts as if she only just realized I've been speaking.

"No story, poppet? What a lonely thing, poor lonely poppet." The Giantess tut-tuts, looking more like I'd just told her my whole family had just died than that I didn't care for a silly little nighttime story. "Poppet must be a sad little poppet indeed."

Her large, reddish face descends until her plain brown eyes can peer at my face from closer on. Unfortunately, there is some level of truth to her words, but not nearly for childish reasons she likely thinks. And yet, an unbidden lump tightens my throat.

"I'm not lonely, Madame," I whisper. "I'm just a bit too old for stories. They're a thing for children."

"T'ain't no shame in wanting things for children," says the Giantess, her pulpy face strangely kind. "A story does a world of good, even for grown poppets."

I shrug half-heartedly. If there were anyone else around, I'd have the decency to be embarrassed. But I'm alone with my Giantess-in-Waiting for tonight, and perhaps it's not totally ridiculous to want a bit of comfort. After all, I let Darin tuck me in on a semi-regular basis. He's not here, but I don't think he'd begrudge me allowing a Giantess to fill in his usual role. He always was superhumanly understanding.

Swallowing hard, I force the words past my lips. "Perhaps you're right. But only this once, you understand?"

The Giantess beams, and though the experience should be unsettling at the very least, there's genuine warmth in her face, enough to ease away the potential for embarrassment. No one need know. And besides, it's only a story. There's no danger in a story.

"That's it, poppet. Into bed for a lovely story and sweet, sweet dreams," she tuts, leaning down with her hand outstretched.

And though I will be dead twice over before admitting it to a living soul, I allow my towering lady-in-waiting to pick me up in her meaty hand, drop me gently into bed, and tuck me in. Forgetting (or rather, dismissing) the utter infancy for a moment, it's strangely nice to let a stranger treat me so. And really, the story about a Giant Princess in a tower isn't that bad at all.

* * *

The next morning, I'm woken by the same overbearing Giantess with a cheery "good morning, sweet lonely poppet!", but it's only when I hear the shrill voices of Jill and Eustace that my morning grumps reach larger proportion. I'd nearly settled on liking the Giantess, if only for her strange brand of understanding. And yet, any goodwill is quickly chased away by the sniping and griping that so endeared those bratty children to me when I first met them.

"I told you they'd follow us, Pole! Jolly good idea, chasing after soups and beds and warm baths like a baby." And that would be Eustace, as stuffy and told-you-so as ever.

And then comes Jill and her better-than-thou whining. "Don't toss me onto the tracks, you horrid...oh! You went right along with the whole thing, even hurried me along, rotten sod that you are! And anyway, we did get baths and hot food and the best night's sleep we've had in weeks so don't you start whiffering on," Jill cries, on the brink of hysterics. I'm shocked at the pity that cuts through my enduring annoyance; the poor girl doesn't know what horror she and Eustace have led us into.

"If the first thing you're going to do," I cut in before Eustace can toss something back, "is argue like the little pests you are instead of saying a civilized good morning, I will personally boil you alive in that hot soup you so enjoyed." As I'm rightfully chastising the two children, curiously without Puddleglum, I climb from the bed and throw a robe over my nightgown. It's improper for them to see me in such a state of undress, but at the moment I can't be bothered to care. Thankfully, the children hold their tongues and have the good sense to look ashamed.

"Well there, lonely poppet has a bit of snap," booms the Giantess. "Why, poppet could be little poppets' mother!"

"Oh no," I quickly interject. "I'm not their mother." I turn to glare at Jill and Eustace, dressed for the day in garishly bright clothes and still wisely staying quiet. "But I've no qualms with hushing them up from time to time. When the situation calls for it."

Eustace sours, scrunching his freckled face into a rather petulant scowl. "The situation seems to call for it rather a lot."

I push my bare feet into slippers that the Giantess (who really doesn't seem so bad) was kind enough to leave by the bed for me and quirk an eyebrow. "Exactly my point, Eustace." Tying the robe tightly in a perhaps futile effort to conceal the ridiculous bows on my nightgown, I sigh away my frustration and turn to the more pressing subject at hand while the Giantess bustles around, tidying up the toys that, needless to say, have no need of tidying. "Now, where are Caspian and Puddleglum?" I whisper. "Oh, and Caspian is Xander, just in case his name is known here."

"Xander?" Jill blurts, rather too loudly. Eustace helpfully elbows her in the ribs. "Um, right, Xander. Puddleglum went to say his good mornings, melancholy as they may be."

"Melancholy mornings? What's all this?" begins the Giantess, pursing her lips at the very idea. "No melancholy mornings here, poppets! Who's melancholy?"

I answer before either of the children can. "Oh, that's only our friend, Puddleglum. He's a Marshwiggle and very...well, he has a slightly soggy outlook on life. I'm afraid it's just his way. But he can be quite charming when he isn't trying to be."

"Quite right. He's a wet old blanket, but we like him just the same." Evidently, a minute without his voice being heard was far too long for Eustace.

"Could you take us to him?" says Jill, putting on a perfectly innocent smile. "We've missed him a good deal."

The Giantess grimaces; the drunken, long-limbed Puddleglum of last night is probably still stuck in her memory. He was rather memorable, though unfortunately not in the way I would have liked.

I glance over at Jill, who is wisely still keeping her wide, doe-like eyes on the Giantess. But it seems that no matter Jill's efforts, the Giantess doesn't like the idea.

"Perhaps to Xander?" I offer, tightening the robe around my waist in a futile effort to hide the obnoxious bows and ruffles on my nightgown. "I'm sure he would appreciate the company for breakfast."

The Giantess breaks out into a toothy smile. "Why, of course poppet! Quite the handsome one, isn't he? Lonely poppet must have breakfast with handsome poppet!" With that humiliating reply, she thunders over to the door and flings it open. "Come come poppets, off we go!"

At least we're out of the room now. The children follow on my heels as I rush out into the cavernous hallway, strung with obnoxiously colored tapestries and rugs so thick our steps are entirely silent. The Giantess's, however, are not. It's a relief when she opens the door into the room beside mine and finally her walking stops shaking the very floor beneath our feet.

I sprint inside, the children hot on my heels. Ah, there stands Caspian, glaring at a clearly juvenile table that's as unfortunately colored as the toys scattered about.

Eustace lets out a long whistle, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "What a sight, sir. Why, they've set you up just as well as us!" The blond waves at a fraying teddy bear. "How homely."

I may not approve of Eustace's - or Jill's - attitudes, but the look dawning on Caspian's visage is enough to change my mind just this once. He all but contorts, as if he's bitten into a fresh, plump lemon.

"Sporting entertainment, for a certain clientele," pipes up Puddleglum from across the table. "And breakfast to go with! They do know how to treat a chap, though I'm sure the food is poisoned or soured or carrying some horrid new disease that - "

"That's enough, Puddleglum." I hide the laugh tickling at my throat with what I can only hope is a convincing cough. Poor Caspian still hasn't quite banished that soured look from his face. Beside me, Jill has far less success in masking her mirth.

"Breakfast for the poppets!" In bustles the Giantess again, bearing a tray with enough food for a small village in addition to the modest spread already on the table. "Eat quickly, poppets, else you'll miss the send-off."

Eustace, Jill, and Puddleglum waste no time in following orders, but Caspian has recovered well enough to speak.

"Send-off?"

The Giantess chortles, tutting at Caspian as if he's a dear thing. "The King and all the court are setting out on the hunting, silly poppets. Such a pretty sight!"

"Thank you," I reply, since Caspian's face is suddenly awash in red again. "Please do fetch us when His Majesty is setting out."

This pleases her, and well enough that she leaves the five of us to breakfast, humming to herself as she clicks the door closed behind us.

"What utter nonsense!" Caspian explodes the moment we're alone with our human companions. "Poppets indeed. Being pawned about like a child..."

Oh, how I relate. And yet, Caspian's so rarely been this indignant that here among the hideously colored horses and jousting knights, it takes every once of my remaining self-control to swallow my giggles and bite back the smile creeping across my mouth.

"But I must say, a proper meal does make up for it," Eustace insists around a bite of biscuit.

I swallow my piece of cheese and lay my hand over Caspian's as his face darkens further. He's quite a colorful version of himself this morning. "While it may seem so, Eustace," Caspian bites out after a long gulp of tea, "I regret to inform you that your hosts have quite the place for you in their proper meals."

Beside me, Jill pales and drops her blueberry scone mid-bite. "We...they...as in..."

"As in by sunset tomorrow, you shall be like that scone." Perhaps there is a kinder way to say it, but Caspian's grim reminder of our predicament did no wonders for my mood or patience.

Silently, Jill pushes her plate away and glares at Eustace. "You rotten sod! Oh I just knew this was a bad idea. Now see the mess we're in!"

"I'm the sod? You whimpered for soup and baths the whole way here, and this was your idea!" Eustace explodes, waving a piece of toast. Apparently, his appetite is not intimidated by the notion of sating someone else's.

Jill, for once, has nothing to say. But naturally, Puddleglum has a small offering.

"That's the way of it, my fellow doomed travelers. We shall be stewing in a Giant pot by midday tomorrow. No doubt our hosts will feed us well until then, of course. The fatter we are, the better their meal, if you'll pardon me." Puddleglum leans back in his chair, as mournful as ever. His hat droops low, almost covering his sallow eyes.

"Oh dear!" Jill bursts into tears with little warning.

Eustace looks aghast, as if he's never seen a girl cry before. He looks to me helplessly, but I've no answers. Caspian, however, saves the proverbial day.

"There now Jill, chin up," he says as he stands and goes to kneel by her chair. "We must trust in the Great Lion. He'd want us to be brave until we figure our way out of this castle."

Jill sniffles and wipes gingerly at her eyes. "Yes, I suppose so. Oh but how angry he'd be!" Her eyes fill anew and Caspian's shoulders slump ever so slightly.

Time to step up.

"Perhaps he would," I answer firmly. "But wouldn't he be gentle after? He's not a tame lion, but he is good." That was something Caspian passed along to me, that Queen Lucy once said to him.

Jill frowns. "I feel sure you're right, but I can't quite place why…" she trails off, her eyes trailing across the room to rest on the window.

"Here now Pole," Eustace suddenly pipes up, "let's go and have a look outside. My room didn't have a window seat; did yours?"

"No, it didn't." Jill rises with the aid of Caspian's chivalrous, if slightly superfluous, hand. I give her a small boost onto the plush seat, followed by Eustace. "Oh, how perfectly dreadful!"

"Jill? What's the matter?" Caspian climbs up, helps me, and as Puddleglum joins us, Jill points out the window to the ruins scattering the snowy landscape.

From our view, I pick out the flat hill-top we struggled over yesterday, and the ledges we climbed up and down, getting soaked with snow and slush all the while. But in the light of day, they're clearly Giant stairs, leading up into the City Ruinous we were to be seeking. And there, across the fragmented pavement, run two words: UNDER ME.

Eustace lets out a short whistle of dismay. "The second and third signs muffed."

"To find the Ruined City of the Giants…" I start.

"And to find writing there, and do what the writing says," Caspian finishes.

Jill turns away from the window, about as glum as Puddleglum. "It's my fault," she murmurs. "I-I'd given up on repeating the signs every night. Aslan, he came to me last night. If I'd been thinking about them I could have seen it was the city, even in all that snow."

I furrow my brow. "Don't be too sure, Jill. I was thinking of the city a bit and I couldn't recognize it. We were quite small by comparison."

"The truth is," Eustace cuts in with his arms crossed tightly, "Pole and I were so jolly keen on getting to this place that we weren't bothering about anything else. At least I know I was, and you three were trying to dissuade us (rightfully so, I freely admit)." Here Eustace flushes, an odd pink on his freckled face. "Ever since we met that lady riding with the knight who didn't talk, I've thought of little else, and Pole, I don't doubt it was the same for you. We'd nearly forgotten about Prince Rilian. Oh Caspian, I'm ever so sorry."

Caspian stares out at the ruins, unmoving.

"I shouldn't wonder," says Puddleglum, "if that wasn't exactly what she intended."

Beside me, Caspian presses his lips into a thin line and works his jaw, as if stifling something rude.

But Jill carries on , too focused on Eustace and Puddleglum to notice. "But how didn't we see the lettering? Could it perhaps have come last night? Could he – Aslan – have put it there in the night?" And then Jill tells of a most disconcerting dream. Aslan came to her, in her room, carried her out to the window in his great jaws, and bade her look outside, where as clear as day she saw the same words shining back at us now.

"Why, you chump!" Eustace says. "We did see it; we got into the lettering. Don't you see? Pole slid into the E in ME. We walked along the bottom stroke of the E, due north, turned right onto the main stem, came to another right turn (the middle stroke, you see), and then continued to the top stroke before turning about and sleeping in that original corner. Like the bally idiots we are." He kicked at the window savagely, and went on, growing ever more bitter with each word. "So you see, it's no good. Pole, you were thinking how nice it would have been if Aslan hadn't put the instructions on the stones of the ruined city till after we'd passed it. And then it would have been his fault, not ours. But no, we must just own up. We've only four signs to go by, and we've muffed the first three."

The boy is right. Perhaps this is perhaps the most sensible thing I've yet heard from Eustace. Still Caspian stands like a statue, staring out at the missed sign with the blank stare of a man grasping for his last straws of patience and magnanimity.

"I think you mean I have," Jill pipes up. "It's true, isn't it? I've spoiled everything since you brought me here, Scrubb. I'm so frightfully sorry, to all of you."

Caspian's shoulders relax from the soldierly attention he was straining to maintain. "No Jill, I fear I must apologize to you. I have been quite impatient with you, all of you. I fear I allowed my determination to save my son from caring for those right before me."

"Not so, Your Majesty," Puddleglum cuts in. "You have cared for and protected us as any king ought to."

But despite the attempted comfort, Caspian's eyes shine with tears as he turns toward me. "I'm afraid that's just the trouble, my dear Wiggle. I have done my duty as a king, but less so as a friend. Jill, Eustace, I fear I did not allow myself to understand what hardships this journey inflicted upon you. And now I fear my shortness with you has led us here, astray from Aslan's signs."

Eustace puffs up, such that for the first time since I've known him, he seems more young man than boy. "Now see here, Caspian. You may be the king, and you may be the leader of our traveling party. But don't you take all the blame yourself. I won't hear of it! Pole and I allowed our heads to be frightfully and frivolously turned by that lady in emerald robes, and we should bear that responsibility. So to that end, I am sorry, and I'm quite determined to set things to rights as best I can. Isn't it so, Pole?"

"Quite so," Jill echoes. "How we could blame you for a spot of impatience, Caspian? Why, you're striving to save the last piece of your family and Narnia's future king. I'm only sorry we haven't helped the process along."

I've stayed quiet long enough. "But you have." Eustace and Jill turn to face me with all the incredulity I usually reserve for Caspian's most self-depressing moods. "You mustn't forget that it was you, only the two of you, who brought us news of Aslan's signs in the first place. It was you who gave this quest direction, purpose, hope. Though at times I could wring you both like wet laundry, we'd never have gotten this far without you. Aslan sent you with us for a purpose; perhaps even all these mishaps have been part of the journey He ordained."

When at last my runaway mouth closes, I find Caspian's hand warm in mine, the two children with arms wrapped tightly around my middle, and Puddleglum's long face tight with the threat of tears.

"My lady," says the Marshwiggle, "I think you must be right. Every hardship, of which there must certainly be more - that's the way of adventures, after all, must indeed be leading us to some great ending."

With little warning, a great beaming laugh breaks from Caspian's mouth. "Why my good and fair Wiggle, that is the most optimistic two sentences you've uttered on this whole journey!"

Indeed they are. And for the first time since my Telmara detour, I begin to feel as though this quest may yet end with the hope and love we each have been fighting for, in our own ways. Perhaps, just perhaps, we shall yet find Rilian and restore this missing piece of Caspian's family to Narnia's royalty after all.


	16. Man Pies

**(Caspian POV)**

Caspian knew Rose had a soft spot, but never has he heard her speak so reverently of Aslan. She tolerates Narnia, but she does not love it. But listening to her suggest that even their mistakes could all be part of Aslan's plan…it's a welcome surprise. Caspian's chest warms as his own faith restores itself deep in his chest.

And yet, there is no time to enjoy this. The most pressing issue is that of escape, and finding a way under the City Ruinous once they have. It sounds far too simple; it will be by the grace of Aslan if they all make it out in one uncooked piece.

"As fine as this affection is," Pole chimes in just as their little group hug dissolves, "oughtn't we begin to figure out those instructions? UNDER ME doesn't seem to make much sense."

"Yes it does, though," says Puddleglum. "We've got to look for his Royal Highness under that city."

"Right, but how can we?" asks Jill.

"We've got to find our way out first. Far easier said than done, I know, but we simply must seize the opportunity when it presents itself." Rose stares out the window at their destination, her voice slightly odd.

Caspian rests his hand between her shoulder blades, coaxing her mind back into the room. "Or we create one."

The five of them cast about for a moment before Puddleglum points a thin finger at the door. "Easy enough," he says. "We might try opening that door to begin with."

But even if Caspian stands on Puddleglum's shoulders, he finds that he can barely reach the handle, and that he certainly couldn't turn it even if he could.

"Perhaps they'll let us out if we ask?" Jill's optimism carries that weight that only doubt can bring.

"Supposing they don't?"

No one has a good answer to that. It seems to Caspian that Puddleglum's moment of optimism has flown right out the window to freeze over in the snow.

"Well we can't tell them anything of the truth of our business," says Rose. "So unless we can come up with a very convincing lie, we'd do better sticking with the original story of the Autumn Feast."

That's a given. Caspian grins wryly. "Especially as I am under a different name here." He thinks for a moment, tapping his index finger against his chin. His beard has grown scratchier on the journey, since he's not taken the time to trim it. No doubt he must be growing ridiculously scruffy.

"There's not much chance of sneaking out at night," offers Jill, tugging absently at her pigtail. "We've already proven we can't get these doors open, and the windows are far too tall unless we help each other up. Rather difficult to do when we've each been given our own quarters."

"Our only chance is to try to sneak away by daylight," says Eustace. "Mightn't there be an hour in the afternoon when most of the giants are asleep? I'd bet anything there's a back door open somewhere."

Caspian meets Rose's skeptical glance, but he does not shake away the suggestion. Thus far, it's the best they have.

"It's hardly what I'd call a chance," says Puddleglum. His long face is, apparently, back to stay.

Caspian speaks with all the authority he can muster. "But it's the best we have."

As he looks around their small circle, he finds straightened spines and the light of determination in every eye. It's good to grasp onto that bit of hope.

"Besides, if we're caught it's ever so much easier to pretend we were simply exploring, or some such excuse," says Jill. "I daresay no one would believe us for a moment if we said such a thing while lurking about in the middle of the night."

Eustace snorts with the mirth of a boy who's done more than his share of sneaking about and knows precisely what Jill is referring to. Caspian himself reminisces for a moment about his sneaking around as a boy to track the stars with Professor Cornelius.

"Perhaps that kind of thinking would have served you well in years past," Caspian whispers to Rose. She scowls and kicks his shin.

"Leave it to these two to know how best to sneak about." But when he sees her profile, the whisper of a smile dances around her lips.

With little warning, Eustace claps his hands together, rubbing them gleefully. "At least we've got a plan now." His boyish grin is contagious, but Caspian presses his lips together. They're not out of danger yet.

"But we must put them off their guard," Caspian reminds them all. "We must act as though we simply can't wait for this Autumn Feast. Play the part that witch assigned." He simply can't help the vicious curl of his lips as he thinks of that green monster.

"That's tomorrow night," says Puddleglum. "I heard one of them say so."

"Right," says Jill. "We've got to pretend to be awfully excited about it, ask all sorts of questions. They think we're absolute infants anyway, which will make it easier."

"All of us, apparently," Rose retorts with her eyebrow arched.

Caspian holds in a shudder. He shall never quite forget the humiliation of being treated like an infant, but perhaps in good time he will manage to banish the shivers racing over his skin and threatening to turn it redder than a freshly picked tomato.

"Jolly," says Puddleglum with a bone-deep sigh. "That's what we've got to be – jolly. As if we haven't a care in the world. Frolicsome. Begging your pardon, but you four haven't always got the highest spirits, I've noticed. We've got to be jolly, like this – " Puddleglum's ghastly grin is truly enough to frighten the King of Harfang himself, Caspian is quite sure – "and frolicsome – " here he graced them all with a most mournful caper. It was truly a sight to behold, far beyond Puddleglum's spider-like performance under the influence of the Giants' drink.

Caspian makes, he believes, a truly valiant effort to keep a straight face and nod along as the Marshwiggle prattles on about being a funny fellow anyhow in the eyes of the giants and how his tipsiness was quite certainly – mostly at least – put on.

"I had an idea it would come in useful, somehow," finishes Puddleglum.

Caspian snorts through his admittedly poor game face, for which he receives a well-deserved elbow to the ribs from Rose.

"Begging your pardon, Your Majesty," says Puddleglum with his chest comically puffed out, "but I do assure you it was quite the act."

"Quite so, my dear Marshwiggle," Caspian manages, biting the inside of his cheek for all he's worth.

Luckily before Caspian can quite chew through his cheek or Rose can gift him with another well-deserved elbow jab, the door flies open and in bustles the Giant nurse, clucking away as she shoos them toward the door. "Come now, my poppets. Come and see the King and all the court setting out on the hunt? Such a pretty sight!"

The golden window of opportunity shines bright, and Caspian wastes no time in rushing out with the others hot on his heels. The horns blaring and hounds baying and the court chattering in their thunderous voices provide quite a clear direction. Caspian, Rose, and Puddleglum lend their help to the children in clamoring down the staircase made for Giant feet.

It truly is a sight to remember. Were they not here by a witch's trick and bound for a stewpot unless they escape, Caspian would otherwise pause, take in the overwhelming scene before him. There are no Giant horses, naturally, so this hunting party is set to depart on foot, but with normal-sized hounds yipping and howling as they weave in among the party's feet. Surely they have practice, but it's a wonder that the Giants don't tread the poor beasts into the ground. But they must not, else the hounds would not dance about without fear.

"Blimey," murmurs Eustace. He sticks closer to Caspian's side, but Caspian tugs them along through the throngs, making straight for the Queen.

They've evaded the stomping feet within a few Giant paces of the Queen when Jill surges ahead. Caspian reaches for her arm, but Rose takes his wrist and pulls his arm away.

"She's the best one for it," Rose says. The surety in her eases the protective surge welling in Caspian's chest.

Jill, Lion bless her, goes right up to the litter holding the Queen aloft – on the shoulders of six young Giants, poor chaps – wearing the most winning, girlish smile Caspian has seen yet seen her employ.

"Oh please!" cries Jill, "You're not going away, are you? You will come back?"

It's something close to a miracle that the Queen can even make out the girl's words, but luck, it seems, is on their side.

"Yes, my dear," says the Queen. "I'll be back tonight."

From the corner of his eye, Caspian spies Puddleglum putting on a smile most unpleasant, though the Wiggle surely thinks it must be the height of geniality. He stops Puddleglum up short before he can frighten the Queen in the middle of Jill's workings.

"Oh good, how absolutely lovely!" Jill is just saying. "And we may come to the feast tomorrow night, mayn't we? We're so longing for tomorrow night! And we do so love being here. And while you're out, we may run over the whole castle and see everything, mayn't we? Do say yes!" Jill's curly pigtails bounce as she tilts her head in that most endearing way that children are known to do when they especially want something and are quite certain they can convince the grown-up as to why they absolutely must get it.

"Yes, dear, of course you may," says the Queen. But the roaring laughter of all the court nearly drowns out her voice.

Jill returns absolutely alight with her triumph, but for all the success of the moment, Caspian has to agree with Rose that the indoors is something of a relief after the raucous cheer of the Giant hunting party.

Jill, the darling of the moment, wastes not a single moment. Caspian has to admit that without her, the day would likely have been a disaster, especially if it were only he and Rose and Puddleglum. But with Jill, the five of them are swept off following in her grand tour of the whole of Harfang. Throughout it all, Caspian is quite sure that Jill's tongue is never still for even the smallest of moments. Her prattling and giggling would have been annoying in any other circumstance, but today it is their salvation among these Giants who simply cannot get enough of Jill's antics.

"She's absolutely perfect," marvels Rose in his ear as two giantesses pass Jill around their little circle, bestowing what look from this distance to be rather wet and very unpleasant sorts of kisses.

"Quite so," chimes in Puddleglum. "But she's got to keep it up, I say. Jovial's the word!" For the third time that morning, Caspian marvels at how such an earnest attempt at a smile can look so utterly depressing.

"I'd say Pole's got the entire act well in hand," says Eustace. "But then, girls are much better at that sort of thing."

Rose scoffs aloud. "Or perhaps you boys simply don't care to learn the skill."

Eustace looks for a moment like he's attempting to swallow an entire orange and the offending fruit is wedged in his throat. "What ever would I want to learn that for?"

Caspian is sure his grin must look positively wicked, but he finds that Rose is all seriousness beneath the playful flap of her hand. "Precisely for moments like this, Eustace."

Perhaps it's merely the light, but Caspian would swear to the Lion himself that Eustace's skin took on a decidedly greenish tinge.

* * *

Lunchtime slowly came around. Jill takes a momentary break from her sweet talking and innocent investigations to join them at a little table they have all to themselves, near the fireplace. Caspian catches himself watching Rose as sneakily as he is able. They've only been at Harfang a day and so he cannot expect miracles, but he hoped he would find her at least somewhat restored after weeks in the snowy wilderness. But though the dark circles under her eyes are somewhat lightened, she still picks at her food – cold venison, quite the lovely thing to eat by a crackling hearth on a cold winter's day – and the weight ever present on her shoulders seems not at all lightened.

Rose catches him staring, but she holds her piece until the noise from the chattering Giants at a large table a bit away from them reaches a crescendo and the others glance over briefly in annoyance.

"Stop that."

Caspian resists the jolting urge to look away and keep the fragile peace between them. "I am still worried."

Rose shrugs. "Then don't be. I've no use for it, and neither do you." Her casual tone twinges in Caspian's chest.

He doesn't have a good answer, but it feels wrong to let that be the end of the conversation. Things are still upset between them, and he has no idea how to fix it. He is no stranger to grief, but the contours of his are different. He still has hope.

Rose, it seems, is fresh out of that.

Caspian aches with the need to help, but she has shown him many times that there's nothing to be done but let her work through things on her own. He promised her and himself that he'd let her. But she needs her strength for what lies ahead.

He can't lose her too.

"Don't eat another bite," says Puddleglum with a start. His normally muddy complexion is noticeably paler, ghost-like even for him.

"What's wrong?" ask both the children in a whisper.

Puddleglum speaks with staccato urgency, as if the words are unbearably painful. "Didn't you hear them? 'That's a nice tender haunch of venison,' said one of them. 'Then that stag was a liar,' said another. 'Why?' asked the first one. 'Oh,' said the other. 'They say that when he was caught, he said, Don't kill me, I'm tough. You won't like me.'"

Caspian drops his fork, laden with another bite, with a clatter onto his plate. His stomach churns violently as the truth comes to fruition with Eustace's realization.

"So we've been eating a _Talking_ stag."

A horrible silence descends over them all. Rose pushes her plate away, followed closely by Puddleglum, whose increasing paleness warns of impending faint. Jill's eyes grow ever wider as the comprehension dawns for her as well, while Eustace looks closer and closer to being ill or even crying. Caspian himself may well deliver his unholy lunch right back onto the plate.

"We've brought the anger of Aslan upon ourselves," says the Marshwiggle, his voice ever more unsteady with every syllable. "That's what comes of not attending to the signs. We're under a curse, I expect. If it was allowed, it would be the best thing we could do to take these knives and drive them into our own hearts."

Caspian knows well that such an end is strictly forbidden in the laws of Aslan, but Puddleglum has perhaps never been more right in all this horrid journey. He's betrayed his own people, by the most egregious of accidents. How could he have ever thought it safe to eat anything Harfang had to offer?

Perhaps Puddleglum is right. Perhaps there truly is some sort of curse on them. On him? The only reason they even wound up at Harfang, after all, is because Caspian is seeking his son. If he had gone with Lilli that day, would things have been different? Would he have killed the witch before she could have taken his family and nearly ruined his kingdom?

Perhaps. But he did not go, and now here they are. Can he ever stop failing his people?

Even as he follows the children as they sneak out of the hall, even as they make their way down to the kitchens and watch as slowly, slowly, one by one of the scullery giants wipe their hands and leave, even as the afternoon dwindles down into that napping time common after a great meal, Caspian can't shake the sinking certainty that he will always fail Narnia in one way or another. And today, in one of the greatest ways.

The scullery, unlike the rest of the castle quieting down for the afternoon nap, is alive with activity. Giant maids bustle about washing this and putting away that, and dropping the occasional soap sud on the floor all the while. Jill has the misfortune of stepping in one and soaking a good half-foot of her dress, but she complains not a single word.

At length, only one old giantess remains in the scullery. Caspian watches listlessly as she bustles here and potters there, wipes a countertop, puts away a bowl. It seems to him that she has little intention of going anywhere at all.

"Well dearies," she says to them, though to Caspian her voice sounds faint, as if he's listening through wads of cotton. "That job's about through. Let's put the kettle there. That'll make a nice cup of tea presently. Now I can have a little bit of rest. Just look into the scullery, like good poppets, and tell if me the back door is open."

Caspian perks up a bit when Eustace confirms it is.

"That's right," says the Giantess. "I always leave it open so as Puss can get in and out, the poor thing." She carries on as she sits down on one chair and props her feet up on another. "I don't know as I mightn't have forty winks. If only that blarney hunting party doesn't come back too soon."

"When do they usually come back?" asks Jill.

The Giantess shrugs and tugs her bonnet lower on her forehead, so the frill drops a shadow over her eyes. "You can never tell. But there, go and be quiet for a bit, my dearies."

Sneaking out while she's asleep is not the most ideal of circumstances, but it looks as though it will be their only chance. Caspian is the first to retreat to the far end of the kitchen, with the open door in full sight. The winter air beckons, whistling seductively as he stares. The murmurs of the children fade away further than before, leaving Caspian with the sudden throb of feeling utterly alone. It seems as though he could disappear into the cold winter breeze if he wanted, melt into the snow never to be seen again.

Rose's hand comes from nowhere when it yanks his shoulder back, just as the old Giantess starts a coughing fit. Before Rose can say anything, Jill's tiny hands nudge his shoulder and touch Rose's hand. What does the girl need now?

Caspian follows her pointed finger to an open book propped up on the wide table beside the Giantess. Eustace and Puddleglum have already climbed onto the bench and started reading the pages. Caspian has little care, but he humors her anyway. He mounts the bench with little difficulty, but it's only when he locks hands with Rose to pull her up the rest of the way that the fog thick with guilt starts to ease.

Her tiny half smile is enough, though he can't for the Lion fathom why.

Caspian turns to the page Eustace is studying. The boy blanches and turns away, scuttling over to Jill looking almost as ill as he did upon their luncheon discovery. And as Caspian scans the cookbook entries, he sees why; there on the page lies an entry for Man and, just below it, an entry for Marshwiggle.

It's no surprise to Caspian, for he knew the whispered secrets of Harfang, but it's another thing entirely to see the words printed before him. A delicacy, this book calls them. Elegant little bipeds to be eaten between the fish and the joint. Though no mention of a stew.

Caspian is just reading about how the flavor of a Marshwiggle can be greatly improved when Jill taps his ankle and a most glorious sound fills the scullery – a snore.

Climbing down after Puddleglum and Rose is the painstaking work of minutes as they inch along, hardly daring to breathe for fear of waking the Giantess. Caspian finds himself continually glancing up, sure the horrid stench of the scullery will wake the old giantess in short order. But she slumbers on, breath whistling on each inhale just before the snore hits.

And at last, their party of five tiptoes out at last into the pale winter sunlight.


	17. Under the City Ruinous

**(Rose POV)**

Ahead stretches a rough little path winding down from the right side of Harfang on to the City Ruinous. It's the best luck we've yet had.

Unfortunately, that tiny spit of path leads us right to the wide road leading to the main gate. And nearly fifty windows stare at our backs as we scurry along, all beget in our colorful finery with not a speck of cover among the flat stones and frost-bitten pebbles covering the land between our feet and the City Ruinous.

"Nice bits of color you are," mutters Puddleglum. For once, I agree with him completely. "Show up very prettily on a winter day," he continues. "The worst archer in the world couldn't miss either of you if you were in range. And talking of archers, we'll be right sorry not to have our own bows before long, I shouldn't wonder."

"Yes, Puddleglum," Caspian sighs. I bite my tongue on the admission that Puddleglum couldn't be more right.

But the Marshwiggle seems to have no need of my support. He turns to a shivering Jill, nonplussed with Caspian's implied shushing. "Bit thin, those clothes of yours, are they?"

"Yes, I'm freezing already," manages Jill through chattering teeth.

I walk closer, wrap my arm around her slim shoulders, and tuck her against my side. To any peeking Giant, we may yet hope to appear as a frolicksome group out on an afternoon stroll, and I the mothering figure the Giants would prefer themselves to be.

The wind is bitterly harsh out here on the snowy plains. The icy blade cuts right through this flimsy dress and cloak, but the worst bit is the shoes. These flats are little more than vibrant bits of cloth wound around the foot – pretty enough, but so thin-soled that soon my soles are far too cold to notice the constant press of pebbles and rocks beneath my feet.

Caspian is the most stoic of us all, more even than Puddleglum, but it's only because of that damnable lunch. He wears that guilt like the thickest winter blanket, unshakeable and oppressively stiff.

Perhaps I should loop arms, try to lift his spirits with a show of camaraderie. But just as I step closer, the faint echo of a hunting horn sounds from up the hill. My limbs freeze, and in those precious few moments before I remind my legs to keep walking, to keep up the appearance – however rapidly waning – of a quick afternoon stroll, I realize how the hunted hare must feel. My heart hammers a new rhythm deep in my chest, my pulse echoing deep in my belly. Every hair and nerve seems suddenly alight with the knowledge that several dozen pairs of hungry eyes are trained directly on me.

"Steady, steady," says Caspian. "Don't run even now. We may elude them yet."

It's a terrible business – Jill is all a-tremble at my side, though who's to say if from cold or fear, but it is soon over in the worst way possible.

A great clamor of hollers echoes our way, sending poor Jill into a dreadful start.

Jill's mistake is looking back. Her already wide eyes have no more room to bug out, so it's her eyebrows that do the talking as they shoot up and disappear beneath her bangs. But either by force of will or the force of Puddleglum's hand steady on her forearm, she doesn't run as she surely must need to. My own legs tremble from the effort of keeping a calm pace.

Suddenly, it's all over. A great clamor of Giant voices rises up from our left, and then the shouts follow.

"They've seen us," says Puddleglum. "Run!"

The cold air bites into my lungs as I heave in great breaths, running for my life with these four most unlikely of companions. Jill and I are at the rear of the pack, thanks to the ridiculously cumbersome skirts we've both been saddled with. Caspian falls back, just enough to grasp one of our hands in each of his and tear onward.

The pebbles bite into my feet as the blood circulates anew, alive with the horrible reality of the pursuit.

"After them, after them," cries the King, "or we'll have no man-pies tomorrow!"

No, they shall not, but the city lies so far ahead still, and already running pains are stabbing through my chest, shortening my breaths until the clouds from my mouth are half the size of Caspian's.

"Almost there," he says.

Jill stumbles, yelping as she slips on a loose stone. With a huff and a tug from Caspian, she's right back on track, spitting hair from her mouth. But then it's Caspian's turn to slide as we start the mad scrabble up the stony slope that, at last, will take us into the city. Jill wobbles, but I grit my teeth and heave, heave, heave until they've both righted themselves enough to carry on.

The barks and snaps of the hounds split through the air. They're too close, and we're too slow.

Puddleglum reaches the top first. He glances right, and without warning darts into a little crevice at the bottom of the first step. Eustace has only just flung himself onto his belly to shimmy in when a bay startles my legs into an ever more frantic pace. But the dawning dread on Caspian's face and the terror on Jill's speak the truth – we're not fast enough.

Caspian's grip loosens, slides from my hand up to my bicep, and suddenly it's gone and I've covered twice my usual ground in single bound. Jill is only steps from the crevice now. As she crawls inside, her scarlet cloak fans out behind her like a spreading pool of blood.

I glance back, and there is Caspian, still ten paces away with the lead hound closing on his heels. For a moment, everything stops and there is only the cold grip of fear that Caspian will die before he can find his son.

"Caspian!" No sooner has his name left my lips than I realize the small sheath at my waist is empty and my dagger is whistling through the air. It thuds into the hound's chest, a horrid death blow. The poor thing's whine cuts my ears, but then long thin fingers close around my ankle and yank.

I go sprawling, but in moments the dark swallows me and Puddleglum's grip releases my leg. Caspian's head blots out the pale afternoon light for terrifyingly long moments as the bays of the other hounds echo nearby. Almost, almost, there! Caspian tumbles inside in nearly a full summersault, right into my waiting arms.

"You fool, you could have died!" I cry, gripping his shoulders tight enough to bruise.

"Quick, quick, stones. Fill up the opening," comes Puddleglum's voice from the inky darkness beside us. The dim grey light from the opening is hardly enough to see by, but the other three are hard at work already, piling up the biggest stones they can manage in the opening. Caspian rights himself and throws himself at the work, just as my sense returns and I seize the largest stone I can lift. I'll call him ten kinds of fool later, when those hounds have a thick layer of stone and rock between their noses and the Giants' would-be feast.

Just as the baying and yelping reaches a crescendo, the last of the light blots out, engulfing us all in the questionable comfort of darkness.

"Farther in, quick," comes Puddleglum's voice.

"Let's all hold hands," says Jill. It's a good idea, but it takes several long minutes of scrabbling and grabbing around in the dark before I find her tiny hand in one of mine and Caspian's in my other. By then, the whuffling of the hounds at the other side of the stones is too loud for comfort.

"I do believe we can stand up." Caspian's shoulder brushes mine as he tries, and it's not so difficult to straighten my own legs with him pulling me up.

Loose stones rattle underfoot as we shuffle away from the hounds' noses and deeper into the tunnel. I can't tell where Eustace and Puddleglum are, but with Caspian ahead of me and Jill behind me, it stands to reason that the other two are up ahead. And surely Puddleglum be leading the way, however ill-advised that may be.

After barely a few steps we stop suddenly, only to turn a bit to the right and continue on. But before long, the same happens again, and again. We carry on through all manner of twists and turns, each one sending desperate itches down my fingers. In the utter darkness, I wish I could let the light ribbon from my faeries free. Would it be so bad if I did?

Puddleglum leads us around wall after wall, and another and another and another until I have no sense of where we are in the hill or which way leads back to the hole we climbed in through. We may be lost forever in this maze.

Is this how I'm to meet my end? Lost in some forgotten tunnels deep under a ruined city with little hope of finding the sunlight again?

No, I can't start thinking like that. I can't give up yet. Not when Darin's star waits for me back in Tanssi Kuun. I have to survive, get back to what remains of him.

I have to get back to the faeries, too. Secure that second key to our world, and lock it away forever. Never again will I put them at risk. There will only be one keeper of the keys.

Impatience burns hot under my skin. Pinpricks dance through my fingers, leaving clammy sweat in their wake as Puddleglum starts up another morose evaluation of our circumstances. My patience snaps, and a moment later the pouch at my waist flies open.

"Here, Puddleglum, let me – "

"Ow, let go! Save yourselves! I'm – " A great cacophony of rushing stones and gravel cuts him off, just as the ribbon of light springs free and illuminates the edge of a monstrous hill that descends into blackness, far beyond the light's reach. If there is a bottom, I can't see it in the precious moments before I go sprawling out after the boys, and Jill hot on my heels.

Curses split from my lips as I tumble faster and faster down the deadly slope, sweeping an avalanche of debris with me. Jill's pile of rubbish pummels me relentlessly, sending sharp pebbles and bits of rock singing into my skin and tearing my dress. The slope seems to grow ever steeper, until I'm flying down almost vertical even though the gravel is sharp against every inch of my back. Surely we'll all be broken to bits at the bottom, if ever we find it.

Just when the crescendo of rubble drowns out the swearing of the boys further down the slope, it all halts. I can't fathom how long or how far we fell, but now I'm up to my chin in detritus and moving about to free myself seems quite out of the realm of possibility. Sticky heat clings to my shoulder and the side of my face, but the wounds don't seem too bad – only scrapes, aggravated to bleeding more than necessary by the length of the fall.

My ribbon is gone, and all around is nothing but choking darkness, silence, and the insistent scratch of dust heavy in my throat. For a brief moment, I can't hear any of the others, not even Eustace or Jill. But before the wondering panic of if I'm truly alone here at the bottom of the world can set in, stones shift and rustle and shaky voices echo in the black.

"I say, is anyone else still alive? In horrible condition after that fall, I shouldn't wonder. Broken bones aplenty, haven't you?" Ah, there's Puddleglum. Gravel swishes as he talks; he must be up to his chin too.

"I'm alright," comes the wobbly voice of Jill, just off to my right.

"Me too," says Eustace. "Nothing broken, though I've little idea how. Lucky sods, we are."

"That's a word for it," I grumble. My voice tightens around a cough, but the rocks press in on my chest enough I can't get enough of a breath to spew the dust from my lungs.

"But we won't be getting back up that way." At last, Caspian. "But we are, at least, well and truly under the City Ruinous now."

An unexpected and wholly inappropriate laugh bubbles up from my lips and slips free before I can swallow it down. "That," I manage," we certainly are." Well and truly under indeed! We must be a full mile beneath the ground, perhaps more. We've tumbled far enough that the air is warm. We're deep enough that the heat from the heart of the world itself must be seeping upwards. If there were light, it could be a heady summer's day in Narnia, though perhaps a stuffy one.

No one else finds the same mirth in our situation, but that's simply to be expected. Perhaps I've gone half mad. The mad shuffle and rush of debris echoes around us; apparently, everyone else has had enough of being buried among the detritus. I shove my elbows into the gravel, but try as I might, I can't seem to get up. It'll take two pairs of hands at least to dig through this; I can barely wiggle any submerged part of me.

"I'm free!" comes the triumphant cry of Jill. "Say something, won't you? I can help."

"As can I," says Caspian not half a moment later. "Eustace, Puddleglum, Rose?"

"Over here," I huff, struggling to push my voice loud enough to be heard over the cacophony of shifting stones. Unsteady footsteps head my way, sending a small wave of rubble washing over my scrabbling arms.

"Most helpful," I grunt. Caspian's right hand finds mine under the new layer of stones and pulls my arm free at least.

"I say, Pole, watch your step!" yelps Eustace. "I'll need those fingers!"

"Oh hush up! Don't you want a helping hand?" Poor Jill sounds very close to tears. Her sniffle is nearly buried under the ruckus of digging Eustace out, but not quite.

Caspian locks his left hand around mine, and pulls until my arms strain in their sockets.

"No digging then?" I wheeze a bit as my nails dig into his arms. His grip, however well-intentioned, will surely leave bruises in the precise shape of his fingers come dawn.

Oh. We're not likely to see a dawn for…well, for quite some time. Certainly a few days at least.

Slowly, Caspian's strength hauls me up from the debris. He adjusts his grip to my underarms when most of my torso is free, and then – with a final long pull – I'm out.

"Thanks." I find my feet in the pebbles; though I sink halfway up my calves, there's enough support that I don't sink any further.

"Ow! Have a speck of patience, would you?" cries Jill.

"That's my hand there you scratched, Pole!"

I step in the direction of their squabbling. Though I lurch at the unsteady ground, Caspian's grip on my elbow keeps me upright.

"Perhaps you'd best find Puddleglum," he offers. "I'll manage these two."

I start to nod before I remember the utter darkness cloaking us all. I can no more see my own two hands than he can see any facial cues I could give. "Good idea." Starting off on my own without his solidity beside me leaves me disoriented, but oddly enough the stones tight around my calves help me maintain my footing. "Puddleglum?"

There comes another burst of cacophony, and then the Marshwiggle's mournful tones float through the darkness. "Over here. Not that we've much hope of getting me out. Much worse things further down even if we do, I shouldn't wonder."

I don't doubt his outlook, but I have the good sense to keep my agreement to myself. The children may be preoccupied with digging out Eustace, but even that noise won't entirely drown me out. So I settle for wordlessly shoveling handfuls of sharp pebbles away from the Marshwiggle until he's free. Working alone renders the project rather mindless. In far less time than I thought, there's enough freedom for Puddleglum to wiggle about. With a few good heaves, he's free to make more admittedly warrented pronouncements from our precarious seats on this endless slope.

At last, we're all free from the rock. Though it seems of marginal use; we all sit down, our bottoms sinking into the loose gravel. At least, that's what I do. I assume from the shifting stones around me that the others have done the same. Silence falls between us, thicker than the darkness cloaking everything. Sweat beads my upper lip and sticks my thin dress to my back.

It's a long and lonely time at the foot of the slope. The only sounds to break the stillness are the gentle puffs of our breathing and the occasional rattle of disturbed rocks when one of us shifts. We can't stay here forever, sitting catatonic and dusty and sweaty, but for now it's good to rest.

Without warning, there comes a dark and flat sort of voice from the blackness. "What brings you here, creatures of Overland?"

I leap to my feet, but the ground shifts and I slide down on sharp pebbles again, but the descent this time is the work of seconds. One of the children – I can't tell which – thumps into my back.

"Who's there?" I call, Caspian's own inquiry moments behind mine. The children and Puddleglum shout over each other, asking the same, so the whole question from five mouths becomes unintelligible.

"I am the Warden of the Marches of Underland," comes the dim reply, "and with me stand a hundred Earthmen in arms. Tell me quickly, who are you and what is your errand in the Deep Realm?"

Earthmen? Have I heard of such creatures before? My feet find the ground at last, through the fading shoreline of detritus. No traces of magic that I can find, but something about these creatures feels familiar.

"We fell down, Sir," Jill answers quietly. "Quite on accident."

"Many fall down, and few return to the sunlit lands," says the Warden. "Make ready now to come with me to the Queen of the Deep Realm."

 _All lands need a queen._ The snake's mockery from so long ago echoes in my ears. I do not feel its presence here, but I'm restless even still. Something is wrong about this.

"The Queen?" asks Eustace with no small amount of caution. He's learned well. "What does she want with us?"

"I do not know," says the Warden. "Her will is not to be questioned but to be obeyed."

His words stink of enchantments. If I had not lost my ribbon up at the crest of this impossibly long hill, would it have showed me anything? Would it know if these Earthmen are slaves as the earth goblins were?

A crackle, and then a grayish-blue light brightens the cavern, illuminating the Warden and the hundred followers he spoke of. These are strange creatures, not like the goblins at all. These are bare-footed humanoids with sad eyes, pale skin, and overlarge feet and heads. Their brows and noses droop strangely, as if their faces thought to melt but froze before their features could slide off completely. The Earthmen are widely varied in shape and size – some are taller than Caspian by a good bit, and some are shorter than Jill's shoulders – but all wear the same forlorn look of melted candlewax.

"Get up," says the Warden. Shadows from his wavery torch casting dark shadows under his nose, chin, and brow. His eyes are so deep-set they seem to disappear into the darkness.

In a final clattering of stone, the five of us clamor to our feet. The others, like I surely must be, are covered in dust, scrapes, and bruises, but no one seems truly injured beyond the surface. The greatest casualty of our fall is likely our Harfang clothes – none of us have escaped without several unsightly rips, though thankfully our modesty is intact.

"March," says the Warden. His company of a hundred Earthmen holding thin but sharp pitchforks stare us down, and so march we do.

The Warden's pale globe-shaped torch illuminates the large cavern we've slid into, with a knobby ceiling and a smooth stone floor that slopes downward as far as the eye can see. As we march, the ceiling slopes down to meet us as the walls close in. In hardly any time at all, the cave is so narrow that Caspian and I have to angle ourselves to fit, while the walls brush the children's shoulders. Puddleglum, stick that he is, seems to be alright too. Jill, poor thing, seems to be losing color with every step.

Just when the tunnel is so narrow we all shuffle sideways against the stone, it opens up just enough to stand slightly hunched over. We stop, but the Warden lifts his torch and stands aside. Earthmen crouch down and start disappearing into a dark little crack, even smaller and less inviting than the one we crawled through to get here. Jill stops in her tracks and turns an even paler ashy gray.

"I can't go in there," she gasps. "I can't, I can't, I won't!"

Silently, the remaining Earthmen lower their pitchforks and aim the tips straight for her heart.

Seeing her fear stirs the compassion still left in my heart. "Come on, Jill," I say, taking her hand. "Just close your eyes and follow me. You'll be alright."

"No, oh, you don't understand," she wails, her sweaty hand slipping in mine. "I simply can't!"

Eustace nudges her with a barely sympathetic shoulder. "Think how I felt on that cliff, Pole," he says.

"It's sure to get bigger on, else those larger fellows wouldn't be going in. Go on now, Jill." Caspian supplies the calm I was seeking.

I try one last time, ignoring the prick of an Earthman's fork at the back of my neck. "Here, I'll go first. Grab my ankles, Jill, come on."

Jill still shakes like a newborn filly, but in spite of the new clamminess on her palms, she wobbles a nod. As soon as my head and shoulders disappear into the crack, her hands lock around my ankles in a vice grip far stronger than I thought any child could have. She nearly cuts the blood supply to my toes, but I say nothing. We'll both be out soon enough.

Crawling through the crack is stifling, dirty business. It's such a narrow space that I have no choice but so get all the way flat on my face and scoot along, spitting the dust and pebbles from my teeth when my head has enough clearance to keep my lips from brushing the earth constantly. No doubt it feels much longer than it is, but it could be an hour in that crack and I wouldn't be surprised.

It's nothing short of sweet, knee-buckling relief when we emerge into a much larger cave. I end up greeting the new scenery with my palms, as Jill is apparently still determined to grip my ankles with the force of a viper. Thankfully, the moment the cooler air hits her nose, she lets go and shoves herself free, landing on a heap on top of me. Wonderful; another mouthful of dirt.

"I'm sorry," she whispers unsteadily.

"It's alright." I grimace, but I help her up just as Eustace and Caspian come through, Puddleglum close behind. Jill is shaking and sweaty and dirt-streaked, but she composes herself rather well by the time all five of us stand reunited in the cavern.

It's so large it can hardly be called a cavern; the ceiling is so far up it disappears into shadow. The cave is dimly lit beyond the Warden's torch from some natural light I simply must figure out. The Warden shakes the strange torch until it goes out, for we have no need of it here. The thick moss underfoot is not glowing, though it provides a wonderful cushion to our walk. But the strange, tree-like shapes growing up from the earth seem to be giving off the dim, pale illumination from their thin trunks and, to a lesser extent, their flimsy branches.

My steps slow as much as they can without drawing the Earthmen's tridents and spears. The light here reminds me, just a little, of Tanssi Kuun under the stars. If only I hadn't lost that ribbon at the top of the hill. Where is it now? Vanished? Or traveling the depths of the earth, just like us? Can it find the way home, or will it be stuck below the City Ruinous until the end of time? My attempts to call it to me have born no fruit. The loss sticks heavy beneath my breastbone, another loss to carry with me.

Further into the cave lie scaly creatures that could be dragons if you believe in the old tales. Some of the smallest ones look more akin to bats. My heart thumps in my chest as we pass by, but they don't stir. If they're breathing, it's too shallowly to detect.

"Do they grow here?" asks Eustace. What kind of question… grow here? Dragons aren't trees last I checked.

The Warden's brow wrinkles, like he'd be raising his eyebrows if he had any. Perhaps he's surprised any of us had the courage to break the thick quiet, but he goes back to his droopy face quickly. "No," comes the monotone answer. "They are all beasts that have found their way down by chasms and caves, out of Overland and into the Deep Realm. Many come down, and few return to the sunlit lands. It is said that they will wake at the end of the world."

Silence descends again, broken only by the soft shush of our footfalls on the moss. The cushion is so thick that even Caspian's boots barely make a peep.

The cave drags on for what must be miles; we walk for hours beneath a ceiling that never comes into view. Silence lays thick around us, sticking any conversation attempts firmly in our throats. This place is beautiful, but the weight of all that earth above me feels impossibly heavy. I can't decide if it's worse seeing a rocky roof over our heads or having it shrouded in darkness.

We reach a rock wall with a small arched opening, so much like some of the Telmarine castle's doorways that the sight is just barely comforting. Though I have little love for anything in Telmara, this piece of my secondary home brings some measure of relief here in the gloom, so far from everything I've known.

Jill has little trouble with this passageway; though she skitters through on nervous feet, she doesn't hold up the line.

We emerge into another smaller cave awash in a strange, silvery light. Something about this place alights every nerve in my body, even though the light has a similar glow to Tanssi Kuun's moon. But this place does not feel like home. Perhaps that is thanks to the huge man laying inside, taking up nearly the whole cavern with his body and his loose robes. His beard trails across our pathway to the other side, wispy and white at the ends but full and kind around his face. His chest rises and falls in perfect rhythm, unlike the staccato rhythms of the beasts in the previous cave. The longer I look at him, the more pure and innocent his wrinkled face looks.

"Who's that?" marvels Eustace. His gawking does hold up the line a little, but not enough to draw the threat of spears.

The Warden answers without looking back, his words dim from distance. "That is old Father Time, who was once a King in Overland," he says. "And now he has sunk down into the Deep Realm and lies dreaming of all the things that are done in the upper world. Many sink down, and few return to the sunlit lands. They say he will wake at the end of the world."

"The end of the world's bound to be a busy affair, then," mutters Eustace. I catch the flicker of a smile across Caspian's mouth before we trod on.

At the end of this cave we find another stone doorway and another cave, this time lit by a pale blue light and covered in dark ivy so black it seems to suck in the tentative light in the cave and swallow it. No one works up the nerve to speak, and in this cave there is nothing to speak of. It is empty and constantly sloping downhill just like the others, but no strange creatures lie around. In here, there is only ivy and fading light and the soft pat-pat-pat of Earthmen feet on the rocky ground. I'm glad to leave that cave behind.

Onward and onward we go, through cave after cave, door after door. Some caves are devoid of light entirely, leaving us no choice but to link hands and try to stay in line with the Earthmen. Some are lit in reds or pale yellows or timid greys, and one is choked in sickly green. My skin prickles with goosebumps as we pass through that cave. The heady stench of magic is strong there, and if I look at the walls just right, the scaly pattern on them seems to pulse and creep. But though I listen carefully, no rattle echoes back at me. I can't find it on the wall pattern either. And by that, only by that, can I convince myself that the cave is not a trap set by the snake. It's more likely a cruel trick designed to scare travelers.

But what travelers could she possibly be expecting?

Ice skitters up my spine and my legs hesitate. I stand in the shifting green light as still as a tree, even when Caspian's fingers brush the back of my hand and wrap around it to tug me onward. My feet obey, but my eyes can't focus. What if she's expecting us? Could this be a trap, just as Harfang was?

No, there's no guarantee she'd think we could find our way down here to the bowels of the world. More likely, she thinks we're safely cooking in the Giants' pie dishes. Perhaps this cave is just the mark of her magic, or the cave had magic already and she could not help leaving an echo of herself behind.

My ribbon might know. If only I hadn't lost it so carelessly.

A trident pokes into my back just as Caspian's grip tightens and pulls me forward, my feet rushing to catch up. I try to center myself, quiet my mind and reach out as the faeries taught me. But the witch's remnants flood my senses like thick smoke; I can't sense anything beyond it. I can't tell whether this place was her own doing or to what end.

Caspian's hand is warm and strong in mine, but his eyes reflect my own worry back as he guides me through the stone arch ahead of him.

More caves pass, all the rest perfectly normal, or what can be considered normal down here. One even has walls shot through with veins of precious metals. But always, always we travel downhill, until at last the Warden's flat voice breaks the gloom and the lantern crackles to life again. This cave is massive, a thousand times larger than even the dragon cave must have been. Before us lies a pale strip of sand and a still expanse of dark water, stretching as far as the eye can see. And on the sand waits a single boat, with many oars perched against the sides.

The Warden orders us inside and up to the bow. Though I have little love for rowing – and no experience of it either – the task would have been welcome to help pass the time.

"Has anyone from our world – Overland – ever done this trip before?" Caspian asks after we've finished settling ourselves. I suppose this is the old adventurer in him. He has a similar light in his eyes now as he did so many years ago when he first told me the wild tale of his voyage east.

The Warden's reply is predictable. "Many have taken the ship at the pale beaches, and – "

"Yes, yes," says Eustace. "And few return to the sunlit lands. We know."

I marvel that the boy found the courage to cut in at all, but these two children have been surprising stores of courage on this journey. They will need every bit of it to face this witch. And so will I.


	18. Guests of the Lady

**(Caspian POV)**

This strange vessel glides through the water almost silently, so unlike the merry splashes the _Dawn Treader_ would toss up. But these are dark waters, here so far beneath the world. In every direction, there is only the dark sheen of this sunless sea, vaguely illuminated by the Warden's strange lamp. Though the water is smooth as glass, the reflections of the lantern, the boat, and Caspian's own face are hardly more than nebulous wisps on the water's surface.

"Whatever will become of us?" Jill whispers, despair bending her words into unsteady syllables.

Eustace is apparently finding the adventurer's bravery that swept him after his time as a dragon. "Bucker up, Pole," he murmurs back. "We're following Aslan's directions now, remember? We found an old friend, we found the City Ruinous, and we _are_ under it now."

Jill pinches her mouth into a half-smile, the comfort apparently not so helpful as it might have been above the surface with the sunlight to bring her hope and renew her spirit. The girl scoots closer to Rose, pulls her knees to her chest, and stares vacantly out at the endless stretch of the sunless sea.

The silence of the sea miles beneath the earth gives Caspian time aplenty to ruminate, time he would hardly have minded going without. Part of the beauty of questing and worrying about Rose and wrangling Jill and Eustace has been that he was constantly kept busy. And now their endless, mindless journey through the heart of the earth has enveloped him in the cocoon of silence and distance, the very thing he has so cherished avoiding these past weeks. Grief does not choke him so badly when there are needs outside of himself that need tending to.

But here, adrift on a black mirror sea with the light and heat of the sun a distant memory, Caspian has only his own reflection and the sleeping forms of his companions to stave off the impossible press of all he has lost. Neither one offer solace.

The silence of the trip has done little favors for Rose. Cave by cave, Caspian has seen the chill settle into her, the bone-deep dread he's felt sinking into his own body. The green cave with scales flashing across its walls had shaken her more than he, though he thought the opposite might happen when first he caught the eerie glow from afar.

Rose looked as though she'd seen a ghost, and the guilt around her had been so thick Caspian could taste it in the air between them, even without the heart-seeing he still wishes he'd learned from her faeries.

Her guilt had outweighed her grief, and that was no small thing.

He's doing it again, he knows. Rose's troubles are a distraction from his own. And yet, how much can he be faulted for wanting to help his friend? How wrong can it be to push aside the fear and dread and despair from his own heart so he can reach to comfort hers?

Rose warmed to him, at Harfang. The ice of grief caging her away from him had thawed a bit in their need to rescue the children. How fares it now, however, is a question Caspian would much rather answer, though he can't say if his desire to know is yet another attempt at distracting himself from their present course or if his love and friendship for Rose is strong enough to push away the other worries bearing down on them.

Soon they will all face this witch, likely as not. And while Caspian has never felt more ready to confront this evil again, a part of him – a foolish one, perhaps – wonders if Rose is ready. Wonders if it would have been better to insist she return to Tanssi Kuun, sheltered from the quest and her grief and the very real danger they've found themselves in. That he led them into.

Presently, the Earthmen hand them four flat, flabby cakes with hardly any taste and even less texture. Rose picks at hers, but to Caspian's surprise, she does finish it over the course of an hour. Or at least, what feels like an hour here on this timeless sea. It could just as easily be a quarter hour or a quarter day for how imperceptibly the time seems to flow.

The children fall asleep soon after – first Eustace, then Jill, both of them curled up like kittens on either side of Puddleglum. The Marshwiggle finds his own sleep with soggy snores that whistle under the brim of his hat, one of the few remaining originals from their traveling clothes.

But Rose's eyes are open, though she leans heavily against the bow's raised tip as if sound asleep. Perhaps it would be wise to let her be, but the weight of the journey presses in on Caspian's heart and he finds that he can't stay silent. Grief is now a thing they share in common. In some strange way, Caspian is glad to no longer be alone in it.

They have weathered many things together, and their friendship has only ever grown stronger for it. Perhaps grief over the ones they have lost will be one of those things too. Perhaps this sunless sea has brought the urgency of connection to Rose's mind too.

He inches closer to the bow, the wooden bench firm against his thighs. Rose does not move, but her voice pierces the silence between them before he can gather his own words.

"Don't. Don't, Caspian." The dip and drip of the oars nearly steals away her whisper, but Caspian understands just the same.

His heart sinks. Her solitude holds still, it seems. Harfang was only a matter of necessity. Or the sunless sea is affecting her differently. There is grief in the set of her jaw, the blank stare of her eyes, but the loneliness there is not the same as the loneliness piercing Caspian's heart. Hers is one of resignation; his is desperation.

Hope edges Caspian's grief. But try as he might, Caspian cannot find that hope in Rose. And is it then that Caspian begins to truly understand that when the quest is over, he will lose her. He has lost her already, but for the shroud of duty that brought her back to finish this journey with him. Duty keeps her here, not hope.

Even so, there is something he must say.

Caspian swallows against his hesitation and speaks. "You saved my life. Thank you."

Against his better judgment, Caspian finds himself reaching for her, fingers outstretched toward her hand as it rests against her knee. His fingertips nearly brush the back of her hand, but at the last moment he remembers himself and pulls his hand away. This is her grief. He cannot help her.

The stillness of the unbreakable distance brought on by this strange sea consumes them. Caspian finds that even breathing becomes an effort, something difficult that requires his concentration so he remembers what his lungs need. There is no sign of magic that he can see, but he fights to stay awake, keep his breaths regular, keep his eyes open. It would not be wise to sleep, though the children already are.

Some time later, when Caspian is fighting a losing battle against his eyelids after the Warden hands them each another tasteless cake, cool fingers brush against his own. They retreat before Caspian's eyes adjust enough to see them, but it's not so very difficult to guess whose they are.

Rose is glancing away by the time Caspian looks to her face, but his heart is just the slightest bit lighter than before.

* * *

In spite of the foreboding that has kept him awake for many, many hours, Caspian must fall asleep eventually. The whisper touch of Rose's hand is what wakes him. Still, all is the same.

Rose has not moved that he can see, Jill and Eustace are sitting on either side of Puddleglum staring into nothing, Puddleglum is slumped over with his chin resting on his chest, and the Earthmen are still rowing at the same pace as ever. Everything about this sea seems unending, unchanging. It's as if they are all frozen in time, forever repeating the same motions on a sea with no shore. There must have been a shore, for Caspian knows they haven't always been on this same boat, but the memory is hazy and strange in his mind.

And yet, without warning, ahead there comes a light much like their own, a pale blue orb giving off barely enough luminescence to pierce the darkness. Then, ahead and further to the right, comes another, and another just beyond that one. The lights are dreary, but they are still a change. They are still something to break up the monotonous drip of the oars and the gentle splishes of the waves against the boat.

One of the lights comes suddenly closer, and when it passes by Caspian finds himself staring at another boat just like their own. Earthmen pull at the oars and the slip glides along, with the leader standing by the pole lantern. No passengers, though Caspian strains his eyes in case his son might be held captive among these strange creatures.

Eustace and Jill peer ahead with the sudden, wakeful curiosity only children can possess, eyes wide and pupils blown in the shadow-ridden land.

"By Jove," says Eustace, "a city!"

Caspian's nerves jump. It's been so long since he's heard the boy's voice that he forgets the sound of it until he hears it. Jill twitched in her seat too, so at least he's not alone in his momentary confusion.

There is no sign of Rilian, but there are more and more ships as their own draws nearer to a more orderly line of lights off in the distance. As the Earthmen's oars take them further in, Caspian can just make out the shapes of docks and towers and walls and even, in some of these lackluster islands of light, motion and life. Crowds of Earthmen fill the wan patches of pale blue, bustling about with such a silent fuss and hurry that Caspian can barely make out what some of them are doing. Some load and unload wooden crates from larger ships, some bustle through and around temple-looking buildings, and still others ferry bales and boxes between warehouses. The temples are sad, dreary things, most listing off to one side just enough for the eye to see with the bases of their columns sinking into the earth below. Perhaps these were once buildings from above that have sunk down to these dismal shores. They have further still to sink, it seems.

"Now this is just the sort of gloomy place I could learn a thing or two from," says Puddleglum. His words are slow, halting, as if fighting a trance, and Caspian does not like how the Marshwiggle is staring at this strange city. Puddleglum has a dangerous kind of gleam to his eyes.

But when Caspian glances down to catch the shadowy contours of his own reflection in the water, he finds the same odd light in his own gaze. What new devilry is this?

He finds Rose unmoved still at the bow, but her blank stare is absent the disquieting twinge Caspian has found in his companion's faces. Hers is one of emptiness. But as he regards her, it occurs to Caspian that perhaps the emptiness before him is every bit as dangerous as the odd thing pressing behind his ribs and burning just behind his eyes.

"Magic," Rose whispers. "It's strong here."

Caspian finds that he cannot manage words as they sail into the harbor. The city emits a soft murmuring sort of noise the closer they draw in. That sound alone would be quite enough to fog the mind.

Their boat arrives at last, where two Earthmen on the docks tie it fast and haul the vessel close to the worn wooden planks. Caspian finds himself shuffled off-board with his four companions in short order. The Warden takes up his place at the front of their little party, absent the lantern he's left on the boat, and marches them through the bustling, whispering city.

The Earthmen seem wholly unconcerned with the strangers in their midst; most do not even break their stride or the angle of their gaze as they go padding about their business, whatever it is. Set deep in every single countenance is the inescapable sadness that already clings to Caspian's body like a thick second skin.

Caspian reaches for Rose's hand, for surely they can yet find some comfort in each other even in a place such as this. But his hand finds cold flesh and fingers that hang limply, as if they've forgotten how they have curled around his in the past – for comfort, for companionship, for absolution. For trust. Rose is still adrift on that sunless sea, and he cannot reach her.

Their long hike through the city brings them past the established workings of the docks and into sections overtaken by ruins and rubble. It's as if the city was nothing more than rocks and memories until some strange will or magic bid the old shapes to bring themselves upright again, but that the command did not reach beyond the shores. Here in the heart of the city, there is not even a path for their feet to follow, save the invisible one the Warden follows.

But the Warden does know the way, for they come at last to a castle set on a hill above the city with a few candles winking out from the windows. They are not proper candles, though Caspian can hardly recall what a proper candle really looks like. He only knows that these are wrong somehow, that there is too much blue and sadness lingering in the flame.

This place could nearly be Harfang, if Harfang had sunk miles and miles beneath the earth. The courtyard they pass through is laid out the same, though Caspian isn't entirely sure how he knows that. He cannot recall the image of Harfang in his mind, but he knows that the pattern of the bushes and stones is familiar even if everything else about this place is not.

The stairs at the end of the courtyard, however, are not of Harfang. Caspian finds little shame in huffing and puffing as he ascends, for even the children are struggling to catch their breath by the time their glum party reaches the top. It takes the entirety of the walk through a great long hall lit by more weak, wrong candles for their party to breathe more quietly. But oh, in an instant the whole long journey is worth it, for at the corner of the hall lies a proper golden light spilling from an archway. It seems to Caspian that the light is coming from up the stairs just inside, where two Earthmen stand on either side as mournful sentries.

The Warden stops between the two. "Many sink down to the Underworld," he says.

They answer in perfect, monotone unison as if in countersign. "And few return to the sunlit lands." Then the three Earthmen put their heads together and murmur too lowly for Caspian to understand.

His legs ache from their trek and climb, but he dares not let his guard down. Something strange is afoot. Caspian's head is ever foggier by the second, though he can't pinpoint the cause. Is the haze before his eyes of his mind's making, or magic's? Presently, Caspian is entirely unsure he could tell the difference.

The children stand with slumped backs where moments ago they were straight and tall at the first glance of the real light. But the light is shifting, growing heavier somehow, thicker with that same invisible fog clinging to Caspian's skin.

The very air itself is sadness and decay, but fighting against it seems a useless endeavor.

Rilian. He must stay awake to search for Rilian. Could his son be here in this dismal place? Is this the…something Rose spoke of when she first insisted his son was alive? What was that word she used? Something with an e, he's sure of it.

"Rose?" Caspian tries to speak her name, but his tongue is like iron in his mouth and he can't form even the single syllable properly.

Strange afoot indeed.

The Warden breaks from his threeway head huddle and plods up the stairs. It dawns on Caspian then that something about the light has shifted. It seemed…alive, golden, when first they came to it after the long dreariness of the great hall. But now the color is different, just slightly green. Or is that a trick of this sunken world?

Green. The color is important, somehow. Green, Rilian, a quest.

The Warden turns into the doorway at the top of the stairs and vanishes. There's no denying it now. The light that formerly shone such promise of hope is sliding away, drifting into a bright emerald, and now fading into a soft, sad green much like this land's gloomy blue lanterns all awash in despair.

Rose, Eustace, Jill, Puddleglum, where have they gone? Caspian tears his gaze away from the haze overtaking the one thing that could remind him of the sunlit lands of his birth and finds his companions in similar states of muted confusion. Puddleglum regards the Earthmen sentries with the curiosity akin to a drunkard pretending to be a scholar. Eustace picks at his right hand's cuticles, never mind the stairs or the light. He's so singularly focused that Caspian nearly glances to his own cuticles, certain he'll find a hangnail demanding attention. Jill stares into the light, unmoving and loose-jawed as the slow creep of the color shift plays over her face. Rose's gaze is locked straight ahead, but her eyes are unseeing, glazed over such that Caspian could swear she isn't truly here with them. More than ever, she has the look of a ghost.

A soft strumming floats from the top of the stairs at the same moment a sickly sweet smell invades Caspian's nostrils. The air thickens, but the haze is so gradual that Caspian can't recall if the walls have always seemed so far away, or if it's his mind playing tricks.

The Earthmen guards step aside and the path up the stairs is clear. Caspian slowly realizes that his feet are carrying him closer and closer. Jill and Eustace have gotten there first, so he follows their slow ascent. Rose and Puddleglum must be somewhere behind him, but their footfalls seem miles away. Even his own take too long to reach his ears.

The doorway approaches, and the children's faces are awash in that pale green now that they're staring right into whatever lies beyond.

"Welcome, travelers," comes a melodious trill in possibly the loveliest voice Caspian has ever heard. He follows the children into the light and the room beyond. Only when he sees the lady who spoke does he remember that the shiver deep under his skin means something is not right here.

There is no Rilian here, but there is a lady with long curling hair, fair skin, and an emerald gown that flows around her more perfectly than any painting could capture. She sits with a mandolin in her lap and a fire blazing behind her, strumming away steadily. Her countenance is, by all accounts of beauty and loveliness Caspian has ever heard, perfect. But just the same, he feels in his bones that there is some wrongness about her that his tongue cannot name. And yet in the haze and heavy sweetness of the air, it seems to Caspian that his bones themselves are quite far away.

No, this simply will _not_ do! Caspian blinks until his eyes burn and jostles Jill in his attempt to shake these strange airs from his head. He casts his left hand behind him. Where is Rose? Has she the strength to see through this haze? But Jill speaks before he can find her, and Caspian has not the energy to tear his eyes from this lady of green.

"May it please, ma'am," says Jill, "but I believe the last time I saw you, you sent me and poor Scrubb off toward a gruesome end."

"Gruesome end?" says the lady, with the loveliest smile in all the worlds. "No indeed, little sister, for here you stand. Pray tell, to what end could you be referring?"

Eustace, whose head has been starting to hang ever since they came to the top of the stair, finds his voice, though Caspian cannot yet find his. "Harfang, if you'll recall. Those Gentle Giants were not quite so gentle as you had suggested. And we didn't much fancy being cooked into a pie."

_Strum, strum, strum._

The lady laughs, the sound clear as the spring's first birdsong. "Harfang, say you? What a pretty name! I cannot imagine any place with such a lovely name could bring anything but comfort, little travelers."

"Begging your pardon, madame." Ah, and there is Puddleglum, behind Caspian but stepping forward and now nearly shoulder to shoulder with him. "But stewpots and pie dishes are not quite our idea of comfort."

"Stewpots and pie dishes!" trills the lady. "How delightful. What nourishment came from these pots and dishes, pray tell?"

Caspian reaches behind himself again, between himself and Puddleglum. While Jill mumbles that they themselves were about to be the nourishment, his fingers close at last around Rose's wrist. He finds her fingers limp and her pulse sluggish, like a bee on a bitter winter morning.

"Mean you to imply that this Harfang offered you no food or lodging?" comes the cloying voice.

When Jill speaks, Caspian could swear that some of this haze has got into her mind, for it hangs on her words like a blanket. "Well," Jill murmurs, "they did give us the loveliest meals."

Now the strumming seems to have faded, and the warning itch in Caspian's skin begins to lessen.

"And lodging?" prompts the lady.

Eustace's head is still aloft, but his shoulders slump as Caspian's must be. "T'was a relief to sleep in a bed again," he admits.

The lady's fingers are moving across the mandolin, but Caspian cannot tell if the instrument is making any sound at all. "I see the trouble," she says. "The hospitality of this Harfang was not to your liking. Mayhap after so much adventuring, there was no rest to calm your wits. But it is so very rude to speak ill of hosts who tended to your every comfort."

Caspian cannot say why, but this lady's words are slowly making sense. Yes, perhaps Harfang was indeed some horrid misunderstanding. It would be just like those children to be ungrateful, complainers that they are.

"Yes," parrot the children. "It is so very rude to speak ill of our hosts."

What? What sorcery is this, to coax such agreement from the lips of these two troublemakers? Sorcery, enchantment, devilry, for only such things could get Jill and Eustace to parrot along.

And at once, the itch in his bones returns and Caspian hears the strumming again. The haze in the room seems thicker; for the first time, Caspian sees the smoke pouring from the fire and filling every crevice of the room.

Caspian takes his right hand to his thigh and pinches until the skin breaks even through his breeches, and with his left he grips Rose's forearm and digs in his nails until her pulse leaps against his fingertips. His mind clears, just enough for the color of this lady's dress to really sink in.

Green. The greenest, brightest shade of emerald Caspian has ever seen.

His right hand goes to his left hip. The moment his fingers close around the hilt of his sword, Caspian remembers the strength that has brought them all this far. Aslan. Narnia. Rilian. His son, the last living piece of family he has left. Narnia's last hope, and his.

Metal rings clear and true as Caspian draws his sword and points the deadly tip at the witch, for of course she must be so. This is a creature stinking of enchantments; how could he not have seen it before now?

More metal rings out, and Rose's short sword, never used on the journey but a sight for sore eyes, glides into his line of vision.

This, at last, reminds Caspian of his own voice. "Man pies and Giants were mere trifles along our journey." Strength bleeds into his voice, and somehow in this smoke-choked room Caspian finds the voice to shout. "Where is my son? Tell me now, witch, and tell me true!"

The witch's strumming picks up, just for a few passes. "I cry you mercy, weary traveler. How am I to know your son when I have not known you?"

Caspian grips his sword ever tighter, for already the metal seems heavier by the moment. Beside him, Rose's blade trembles.

"If you know me not yet, madame, before the day is done you shall know me as you shall know the defeat that long has awaited you." Caspian wills his feet to step forward, but they will not obey. "This shall be your final defeat."

"Final defeat, say you?" she cries, but ever in the most dulcet intonations. "May it please you, Sir, not to barge into a lady's home with empty threats of violence and mayhem." The strumming softens. "It is most unseemly."

Caspian's arms ache, his sword trembling in his hands. He can't give in now, can't let the enchantment take hold. But for all that, it has never been so difficult to keep a grip on his own sword before. Would it not be easier to just let it fall, or perhaps to lower it just a little? Surely Rilian is not here, for there is no laughter of youth or cry of grieving boy here. The only creatures in this strange land are listless Earthmen and this lady.

"Goodness sakes, Caspian, she has a point," cries Eustace, the weight of his hand falling on Caspian's sword arm. The same wrongness permeating the room and the lady and the fire and the mandolin is in his voice, and it is a heavy thing as it falls upon Caspian's ears.

Jill peers at him from behind Eustace, the light of fear and indignation bright in her clouded eyes. "Really, Caspian, you needn't be a bully. You shouldn't threaten a lady, after all."

The strumming fades again, until the sweet notes are barely a whisper at the edge of hearing.

Caspian lets his sword drop, though his fingers still grip the hilt with stubbornness he cannot banish. Perhaps he ought not be so rude, but there are still questions to be answered. There is still the stink of magic in the air.

The lady glances to the door from whence they came, where the Warden stands guard. In all the hurry to see what was afoot at the top of the stairs, Caspian must have forgotten to look for the Warden, who steps forward now on silent, padded feet.

"Warden, escort these two children to their supper. I think they shall be glad of a proper meal after such arduous travels as they have endured." Her smile is beatific, but there is a cruelness in the curve of her mouth. "My guest will be glad of their company."

The Warden bows and starts off to another door to the left of the lady's fire. Jill and Eustace make to follow, calling muted thanks to the lady and relieving Caspian of the weight of Eustace's hand.

Puddleglum steps after the children, his steps far surer than Caspian feels. "May it please your Ladyship," the Marshwiggle says in a voice that sounds exactly the opposite, "but that I may accompany the children to supper. For they are prone to quarrel and I should not like to leave unseemly impressions upon any of your guests."

Jill and Eustace are halfway across the room to this second door, Puddleglum hot on their heels.

"That will be well," says the lady, hardly sparing him or the children a glance.

The three disappear. Caspian has the sudden notion that he ought to have said goodbye, for now that they've done he knows not where to trade pleasantries with a servant of the lady – a guest, said she, but this does not seem the sort of lady who will suffer any but servants of her own to reside within her halls – he begins to feel he will never see them again.

Caspian's sword is pointed to the floor now, the tip barely hovering above the stone. It seems an impossible task to hold onto it anymore. His fingers slip.

"Yes, it is most unseemly." Rose speaks without warning as she steps beyond him, and her blade is strong and steady as she holds it aloft. Her voice burns, and the flame of it reminds Caspian of the strength of his own hands.

"It is unseemly," she continues, "to lay claim to a world that is not your own. It is unseemly to wage war to take things of beauty and replace them with death. It is unseemly to slither from one world to the next, never satisfied, always taking. It is unseemly to tarnish a spring picnic with a poisonous death, to strike a lady with the blood of stars in her veins and leave her cold in the field. It is unseemly to invade another's home and strike in the middle of the night, to take another innocent life for the sake of your revenge. It is unseemly to steal a most precious item meant to give passage to a world of dreams and starlight, that you may once again try to steal its light. It is unseemly to steal away a boy, his father's pride and joy, a kingdom's hope and future, for your own wicked schemes. And it is unseemly to sit there so haughtily, casting enchantments as if your magic could ever make you a queen."

As Rose speaks, she draws nearer to the witch step by step until she stands nearly within arm's reach. And Caspian at last remembers how to raise his sword, how to wrap his fingers tight around the hilt and feel the sure press of the hilt against his palm. His pulse thrums unsteadily, as if his very blood is shaking off the enchantment. He is a man waking from a wicked sleep, but there is no time to appreciate the rising freedom in his bones.

For just as Caspian comes back to himself, the hiss of a serpent splits his ears.


	19. Father and Son

**(Rose POV)**

The witch's magic is powerful, but it is no match for my grief. Her honeyed words and magic-choked smoke drew me in like a lamb at first, into this sitting room with a fireplace that enables her sorcery. Caspian's nails broke the haze first, though it nearly took hold again.

But her mistake was the pendant hanging from the green girdle round her waist. Even magic like hers couldn't make me forget that pendant, a mirror of the one I keep around my neck tucked safely into my bodice. The same pendant she stole from Darin after she left him cold and dead on the floor.

The moment of recognition was all it took. I drew my sword, proud that in spite of the lingering magic dragging against my arm, my muscles hold my blade high and sure. I stood tall, ready to strike her down for all she's done to Caspian's world and mine.

Before I could move my arm to swing my blade home, her dress solidified around her legs and her arms disappeared into the writhing green trunk. And her face, formerly such the picture of loveliness, narrowed to a pointed serpent's face.

In moments, the witch takes her true form – the snake that haunted Tanssi Kuun, the snake that murdered Lilliandil, that stole Rilian, that killed Darin and stole the pendant key. The serpent hasn't changed a bit since we battled those long years ago, save the thin scar cutting across its scales from Caspian's blade. The same hiss that chilled my bones in Tanssi Kuun dances back to me. Mocking me. Goosebumps shiver down my arms, but my grip never falters.

The flicker of metal catches my eye. I glance back to Caspian. His eyes are bright as if he's just woken from a long slumber, and his sword is held high once more.

It was only a second of distraction. But in battle, that's all it ever takes. A glance away, a second of distraction, an instant of inattention.

I hear Caspian's scream before I feel the fangs sink into my shoulder. I hadn't turned around far enough to see his face, but I catch a glimpse of his eyes as he surges forward, blade arcing toward the snake and slicing through the smoke lingering in the air. The pendant dangles from her side until Caspian's swing strikes home. The hissing scream breaks the lingering fog of enchantment, though the shock of pain was more than enough to do it already.

The floor rises up to meet me as my vision blurs. The thud and clash of battle seems so far away, so warbled, as if I'd stuffed my ears with cloth. Perhaps that would've been wiser. I was nervous she knew to expect us, back in one of those dozens of caves we passed through to get to that dismal sea. I should have listened to my own warning, should have heeded the sign dancing right before my eyes. Have I killed us all for not insisting we take precautions?

The venom sears through me, burning in my blood and locking my muscles into spasms I can't control. Caspian needs help, I need to help him face the witch. I need to get up. But my legs are leaden and not even my fingertips will obey me. I can't even move my eyes to try and track the duel. Even if I could, my sight darkens by the second. Is this what Lilliandil's last moments were like? How cruel, especially for someone so gentle as her.

Caspian's voice wavers into the edge of my hearing, but I can't make out the words. The only thing I can see is the door Jill, Eustace, and Puddleglum disappeared beyond. Caspian and the serpent must be somewhere behind me, for I can't see even flickers of the battle.

But I can see the door open. It slams against the wall loud enough to ring in my ears, and out comes a figure in black I don't know, the children and Puddleglum hot on his heels. Caspian shouts something and the young man in black freezes with his hand at his hip. About to draw his sword, no doubt. Is this the witch's other guest? He seems almost familiar, as if I knew him in a previous life.

Jill jumps from behind the young man with her hands stretched high. Something lands in them, and then she's racing over to me heedless of the serpent that must be close behind me. Her hissing still echoes in my ears. Or perhaps that's only an effect of the venom racing through my body. It leaves a trail of fire in its wake, and soon it will reach my heart. The burn is nearly to the middle of my chest now.

The blur that must be Jill reaches me at last. Her voice tickles at the edge of my hearing, but I can't understand her. She's too young to see this. So was Rilian… Didn't Caspian say it was he who held Lilliandil as she lay dying in that field?

Jill's fingertips are cool on my burning skin as she pushes on my chin. I only realize then how badly I'm shaking.

A drop of floral spice lands on my tongue just as the black inevitability of the venom clouds Jill's face from my sight altogether. The cool spice of the fireflower juice races down to meet the blazing trail in my chest. The two meet, and in an instant the brief tickle of the drop flows into a tidal wave, sweeping away the poison and knitting my torn shoulder back together. It's been a long time since I felt the fireflower's work.

My chest expands on a great, gasping breath as my muscles finally relax, though they ache from the convulsions. My sight clears. Jill lingers above me, and finally her voice crystalizes into words I know. She's asking if I'm alright, with my name at the end of every sentence. Her hand shakes as she helps me up with a much stronger grip than I anticipated on my shoulders.

"Thank you," I whisper. My voice is dry and hoarse as though I've been screaming for hours, even though I have no memory of making a sound from the moment the snake's fangs sunk into my flesh.

Memory returns. Caspian. The witch. The snake. The young man – it's Rilian!

Caspian's yell hits me with sense. With Jill's help, I grab my fallen sword and leap to my feet.

The fight was indeed behind me, but nothing could have prepared me for the sight of Caspian with the snake twined around him in three thick, loathsome loops. His sword arm is trapped, and his other hand just barely holds the snake at bay. Her forked tongue flickers dangerously close to his chin. I now remember well how the venom burns. Her preoccupation with Caspian is an opportunity.

I cross the distance in two bounds, sword high and glinting in the lingering firelight. I wait until I'm close enough to see the gaps between her scales, and only then do I swing my sword home. It crunches past her scales, drawing a spurt of thick, green blood that splatters across my upper half as I leap away. Her serpentine scream ricochets off the walls.

I swing again as the head dives toward me, and another hissing screech rewards my timing. The two forks of her tongue twitch on the floor beside my feet as she writhes. Caspian untangles himself with a few good tugs and well-placed steps, managing another blow to the wound I left as he dodges free from the last loop around his calves.

The screams are starting to pound at my skull, but there's no time for that now. Rilian lets out a war cry from across the room; he's still enchanted, and I'm not sure what he'll do. Eustace and Puddleglum can only hold him back so long. If Rilian joins the battle on the witch's side, Caspian won't be able to hurt him. He'll die either by the witch's fangs or his own son's blade. I can feel it.

The witch goes after Caspian again, giving me time to glance back to Rilian. Jill is helping hold him back, but it won't last. He's nearly frothing at the mouth. Caspian and I have to finish what we couldn't all those years ago.

I run around the snake to Caspian's side as his blade bats away her advance, dodging a flailing tail as I go. The sharp rattle tip catches my calf, but the pain there has none of the inferno that came with the venom. Caspian steadies my wobble; his hand has never felt so grounding as it does now. I'm still dazed from how fast it's all come down to this, but this time, there just might be enough strength between us to end this snake and ensure no one will ever have to suffer her enchantments or schemes again. Yes, that's it.

I settle into a defensive position, one of the first Caspian ever taught me. It comes to me as quickly as dancing now. When I first learned this, I never imagined I'd need it more than a decade in the future fighting the same witch from before.

The pendant's gone. My heart stutters, my breath short until I find the dull gleam of the ornately carved metal on the floor behind the snake. Wait, why is she turning away?

I leap after her without thinking; the only thing I can see is the empty grass that mocked me the last time I thought I killed her. She can't get away again!

Caspian passes me, sprinting after her with his sword high and ready to arc down into the scaly body. Ready to finish this so we can find our way home.

Jill's girlish shriek breaks at the same time Eustace hollers and Puddleglum shouts a warning. Then, I understand.

Caspian's sword sings through the air and finds its mark in the serpent's neck. Mine follows a moment later, just as he pulls his free. Together, we hack off the head, never speaking, just working. At last, the body falls and the head breaks away. The floor is covered in scaly shards and the serpent's blood. Caspian slips and slides as he jumps over the still-writhing corpse, shouting his son's name loud enough for all of the city to hear as he digs through the mess.

I lay down my sword and kneel down to help, and just then something moves under the snake's head. Blond hair peeks out from the muck as Caspian shoves the head to the side. I tear a strip of cloth from my skirt and pass it to him. He wipes frantically at the face slowly appearing from the carnage.

"Rilian," gasps Caspian, his voice failing him as their eyes meet.

I forgot how much Rilian took after Lilliandil. He may be Caspian's heir, but in looks he is far more his mother's son. His smile is tentative at first, much like Lilli's was when I first met her. Soon, though, it breaks free into the boyish grin I remember he wore so often.

"Father?" Tears clear some of the streaks of green blood from his cheeks, and at last Rilian sits up fully and clasps his father's arms with hands that shake and eyes bright with freedom.

Caspian weeps deep, guttural cries of joy and pulls his son into his arms, uncaring for the lingering grime and gore of the battle painting them both. Rilian collapses against his father and sobs as young man finally found and free to see all as it truly is.

I step away to check on Jill. She sits up from her sprawl in front of the fireplace, squinting in the smoke. It's lessened considerably, but with the fire still roaring away, there's enough to make the air tight nearby. With the witch gone and her serpentine body cooling on the floor, the firelight is back to rightness – warm and golden and welcome. The only smell in the smoke is the earthy woodiness of all fires, just like the ones in Narnia.

I reach down and guide Jill to her feet. "Are you alright?"

"I believe so," she hums, brushing off ash and soot from her shoulder where she fell. "Bit ruffled I suppose, but alright just the same." She smiles the first smile I've seen from her since Harfang. "I'm jolly glad you're all better."

I'm thinking to thank her and go check on Eustace, but Jill surprises me. The girl steps in, flings her arms tight around my waist, and squeezes until most all the air is satisfactorily pushed from my lungs. Only when I wheeze does she loosen up.

Before she can apologize, I find my arms are around her too as I murmur my thanks into her mussed hair. "You saved my life, Jill," I conclude.

Jill snorts. "Well someone's got to keep Scrubb and I from strangling each other. But besides that… we'd miss you."

Perhaps it's still the fog of Underland, but something in my heart squeezes at the confession. "I'd miss you too," passes my lips before I can think the better of it. "We'd best see about Eustace and Puddleglum."

"Over here," calls the former of the two. Eustace got a good splatter of the serpent's blood across the face and head, but other than a few odd spikes of gooey hair, he seems no worse for the wear. He's helping Puddleglum to his feet.

The Marshwiggle seems alright but for the scrape along the side of his right foot from the fall. He waves off my suggestion of the fireflower cordial. "Thanking you kindly, but that's the sort of thing best left for mortal wounds." Puddleglum adjusts his hat, whose brim protected him from the worst of the bloody splatter. "To that end, how do you fare? Not a one of us would blame you for being out of sorts still. You'll be in frightful pain shortly, I shouldn't wonder, cordial or not."

Amusement softens the tension in my face. I wipe my face again with a dry patch of my skirt and smile up at the ever-pessimistic Marshwiggle. "I feel fine, Puddleglum. Better than ever, actually."

I glance away to Caspian, but he and Rilian are still in their reunion across the room. I'll leave them to it, but the rest of us might do well to start cleaning the place. It seems we won't have any Earthmen barging in to defend their fallen queen, and we ought to gather ourselves before charging out questing for the path to the surface.

Puddleglum has his own idea of how to cleanse the place. "Well we might start by putting out that fire and starting a new one. I don't much like the look of it, even without all those enchantments clouding up the room."

It's as good an idea as any. It's quick work to put it out, even without the fire-dousing tools any sensible household would have nearby. But with my Harfang cloak thrown over top the dying flames, Puddleglum and I get it well stomped out in short order. By the time we clear out the old ashes and pile in fresh logs, Caspian and Rilian return to us from their own little world.

Rilian speaks first. "Friends of Aslan, travelers of Narnia, I thank you. My mother is avenged at last, and I am her slayer's slave no longer. Jill, Eustace, Puddleglum, I beg you forgive my strange ramblings of earlier, and I am indebted to you for restraining me while my wits were lost to me. It would not have done well for me to be an instrument of my father's demise." Rilian's posture is strong and his visage regal, but his young voice trembles. He was too young to bear such sorrow.

"We were jolly glad to help," says Eustace, extending his hand for a shake. "Eustace Clarence Scrubb, Your Highness. I think we ought to have proper introductions now."

Rilian hesitates before he seems to remember the strange custom and shakes Eustace's hand heartily. "Prince Rilian of Narnia, son of Caspian X and Queen Lilliandil." The shake is gone from his voice now, and a smile begins to break the shadows heavy across Rilian's brow.

Jill curtsies, wobbling a bit. "Jill Pole, Your Highness."

Rilian's smile grows as he rises from a bow. "Please, only Rilian. I believe after such trials together we are friends with no need for such formalities."

Puddleglum sweeps off his hat to bow as well. He makes his introduction with all the morose cheerfulness I've come to expect of the Marshwiggle, but I don't quite catch it. Caspian appears at my elbow and it's all I can do not to hug him.

"Are you well?" he murmurs. His hand is feather-light on my elbow. I clasp his hand, uncaring for the streaks of serpent's blood still lingering on his skin.

"I am. Thank you." I can only hold his gaze for a moment; it's too intense, too concerned. Even after so many years, I don't relish the notion that he can see the grief still lingering under the joy and relief. Perhaps he learned something of the heart-seeing from the faeries after all. "Your family is more whole now. It's good to see Rilian safe."

A frown flickers at Caspian's mouth. "Because of you. I… thanks is not enough for what you've done."

He should be smiling. This is a happy moment, a moment of triumph and reunion. There shouldn't be this hesitation in him now. So I curve my lips up into a practiced smile and squeeze his hand. "No thanks needed, Caspian." Words he said to me long ago float across my mind, bringing warmth into the smile I try to give. "No less could I do for a friend."

Eustace's voice cut through the lingering conversation, thank the Lion. "Well, I reckon we've all earned a breather. What say we duck back into your dining room, Rilian, and refresh ourselves for the journey back?"

A shadow flits over Rilian's face, but it's short lived. "Former dining room, but your thought is sound. We know not what awaits us beyond these doors in the rest of Underland. Perhaps a drink and some leftovers might do us all some good."

It speaks well of Rilian that he leads us into the dining room with a luscious spread of roast bird, bread, and wine without looking to Caspian for approval. The witch's enchantments must have hurt him terribly, but there is something stronger about him now. The ordeal has, I think, taught him a bit more about being a grown man. Caspian sees it too. I'm glad to see the pride soothing away the worry of the past few months. He deserves this victory, truly.

And yet, seeing Caspian and Rilian reunited only reminds me of… No. No, I can't think of that now. Only a bit longer, just until we escape Underland. Then I can depart and tend to my grief properly. I can't do it now, not in the midst of this party that must be so happy for the success. I hang back as they swarm around the dining table and find their seats. I'd disappear into a dark corner if I could, but with so much uncertainty around our next moves, I'd likely cause more trouble.

I sink my teeth into my bottom lip until the pain clears my head. I can disappear when we've escaped. Not until then. I've been strong this entire journey; I can hold everything in for another few days.

Still, it takes more will than I'd like to admit to sit down at the table between Caspian and Jill and pretend I'm only happy, only relieved, only tired from the ordeal. I am tired from so much more. I focus on the conversation of escape, if only for the hope of solitude it brings.

Rilian explains that there are a good many routes to the surface, but that all the ones he has known began with the journey across the Sunless Sea. Some of the caves we passed through have paths to the surface, including the green cave with pulsing scales on the walls. But without knowing where the Earthmen stand in the wake of the witch's demise, going down to the docks and ordering a boat doesn't seem to be the most certain course of action. That leaves only the tunnel dug for the sole purpose of invasion. Apparently, the witch thought her army of Earthmen could dig to the surface and overtake Narnia with Rilian at the head of the army as a conqueror. The plan's cruel irony brings a chill to the blood in my veins, but it's little surprise. The witch did so love to echo things of the past in her schemes of subjugation and revenge.

My fingers curl into fists. I hide them under the tablecloth as my nails break the skin of my palms. She knew too much of using memory as a weapon. It's a weapon suited to a witch, but I wish the pain didn't echo so strongly. Does Caspian feel it too? Surely losing Lilliandil branded his soul with sorrow like losing Darin branded mine.

Except he still has a living memory of her. I have nothing.

At once, I remember the pendant. I excuse myself from the table as quietly as I can, ignoring Jill's quizzical glance as I go. Caspian is, thankfully, fully absorbed in Rilian's accounts of the dangers and advantages of our routes out of this land.

The entry room still smells faintly of magic and death, but it's lessened in the half hour or so since we left it. The pendant should be near her body, somewhere. I saw it in the battle, behind her. As little as I like it, it's probably buried in her blood.

I huff out my annoyance and start searching. Dried blood flaking under my fingertips is no pleasant experience, but if I can only get the pendant back, I won't worry with it. I've had much worse messes in my time.

"Rose, not to be a nosing Nancy, but what on earth are you doing?"

I start, but it's only Jill. Her soft curls and innocent curiosity are a balm to the fragile heart hammering against my ribs, though I can't understand why. Perhaps the relief of seeing that someone did notice my absence, my pain, soothes my usual harshness.

"The witch stole something from me," I explain. I must look quite a sight, painted from my fingertips to my elbows with serpent's blood. "I saw it in the battle, and I must get it back."

Jill crosses the room in three steps and sinks to her knees beside me. "Well, we'd better find it. Though don't think I didn't notice that you snuck away instead of asking for help." Jill grimaces at a loose scale and flings it away.

She sees more than I thought. A tentative smile inches across my face. "It's a happy time. I didn't want to distract from it."

"Because you're not quite happy." Jill wipes her hands on her skirt, takes up a loose scale, and uses that to push aside the snake's entrails. "It's awful considerate of you, you know. Not wanting to spoil it for Caspian and Rilian." Her hands still, and for some reason so do mine. "But we're all a team, don't forfet. I suppose questing together does that. So if there's anything we can do, I hope you'd say so."

It helps that Jill focuses on the digging and not on me. Maybe that comfort is what pulls the truth from my lips. "I'm looking for a pendant. It's thin, ornately carved. The witch had it on her girdle."

Jill hums. "Silver, right? I think I remember seeing it for a moment around her waist. Or was it on the floor?"

I shrug. "It was on the floor last I saw it, but that was before she dove for Rilian."

Jill's cheeks brighten to a girlish pink. "Right. I'll keep at it."

Long, silent minutes pass in peace as we paw through the wicked remains – finally still and cold. Suddenly, Jill hunches over until the tips of her curls nearly brush the drying blood. "I think I've got something." Her fingers close around something too covered in goo make out. All the same, my heart lightens in my chest.

Jill wipes it off on her cloak, and when she holds it out to me, there it is. The pendant, clean enough to recognize. My hand shakes as I reach for it, this last missing piece of Tanssi Kuun. The last of the things the witch stole that I can reclaim. My fingers close around it, heedless of the sticky layer still clinging to the metal.

In my mind, I imagine speaking clearly. But when I finally force my voice past the lump in my throat, it's coarse and tight in all the ways I wish it wasn't. "Thank you," is all I can manage.

Jill's smile is a careful thing, but her question is not. "What's it for?" She clasps her hands tightly when I don't answer right away. "Not that you're obligated to answer that. It's just, well, I'm curious. This is the first thing that really made you look like you just had a victory."

The lump in my throat grows. "Not quite victory," I whisper. "But safety. Relief too. Perhaps, one day, it'll feel like triumph."

"But not today?" Jill 's gaze is heavy on me, but I can't quite meet it.

"No," I murmur. "Not quite today. But just the same, it's enough"

Jill gets to her feet, brushing at the blood flakes littering her knees. "Well, for now, I suppose that'll have to do." When she extends her young hand, I take it.

It's not quite accepting help, but there's comfort in sharing my grief, even if Jill can't understand the pieces I haven't told her about. Not for the first time, I wonder if seeing with the heart is really only something the faeries can do. Perhaps others can do it too, but we don't have the name for it.

Jill leads the way back to the dining room, where the boys are still plotting the best course out of Underland. The way up from this side of the Sunless Sea would be the most logical if only we had a better idea of its completion. With the invasion not set to come to fruition for over a year, we've little hope of finding a clear path to the surface on this side of the sea. Rilian isn't sure how far in advance the witch wanted the path dug out. The Earthmen could likely tell us, but we've no idea where their allegiance lies with the witch gone. Caspian thinks they might defend their queen even in death, but Rilian argues that they might well have been enchanted just as he was. Given the strangeness hanging over them like a cloak, I'm inclined to agree with Rilian, but voicing my thoughts proves more difficult than I'd like. Instead of forcing the words out, I take my seat and wait for Jill to take hers.

I, for one, don't relish the notion of spending days adrift on that sea again, but if that's our only certain way out, we haven't much choice. But that way lies a maze of caves I'm not sure any of us could navigate, and beyond that the insurmountable hill, and further beyond that a maze of underground tunnels, and if by some chance we could find our way through all those labyrinths, there would stil be the matter of Harfang and the hungry Giants to contend with upon our escape to the sunlit lands.

Sunlit lands? We've hardly been down here two weeks and already I'm thinking like the Earthmen do. We'd all do well to get out of Underland by the quickest route. If only we could know which way was both certain and quick.

"If you ask me," begins Puddleglum, but Eustace interrupts.

"I say, what ever is that noise?" he says.

And just then I realize the slow, steady roaring that must have been building for some time, but so slowly we never quite noticed it until now. Jill and I, at least, were quite distracted up until just minutes ago.

"I've been wondering that for some time," says Jill. "Only I never realized it."

"Some portent of greater doom, certainly," adds Puddleglum. "Likely as not, the witch left enough of her magic behind to bring the whole city to its knees should she meet her well-deserved end."

But for all the gloominess of Puddleglum's pronouncement, Rilian looks to the window to the left of him with the light of dawning hope. "By the Lion," he says, "it seems this silent land has found a tongue at last." He walks to the window and throws aside the heavy drapes, and at last we can see something of the strange happenings of Underland.

The first thing to notice is the potent red glow. The warmth of the color is so different from the dismal pale blues of before that we can hardly take notice of anything else first. But in the red light, the city seems somehow less foreboding than it did before. The glow illuminates the whole of the cavern, so much that we can see the rocky ceiling above us. For me, it's a painful echo of just how much earth lies between us and the surface. We'll be hard pressed to find our escape from this place.

But the second thing to notice is the Earthmen themselves. Where before there were orderly lines and the whispering monotony of work, now the boxes they were passing along lay forgotten in the streets and Earthmen dart to and fro from shadow to shadow, sometimes in sets of two or three but most often as solitary figures desperately evading some perceived evil eye from the castle above. They are creatures afraid of losing what they've only just found. I don't need to reach with my heart to feel the same fear in them that I felt in the fragile days after Tanssi Kuun was first saved. No matter my joy, I couldn't sleep through the night for a solid six months for fear the snake I'd lost would return. These Earthmen have the same look of apprehensive hope about them. At once, I realize we have nothing to fear.

"You're right, Rilian," I say. "They were only enchanted, just as you were. I think they are as glad of their deliverance as you are, though they may not know you were under their same predicament."

"It would appear so," answers Rilian. "But that roar troubles me."

"Is it those Earthmen?" asks Eustace, his hand absently drifting to the sword hilt at his hip.

Rilian shakes his head. "I think not. I never heard a single one of them speak beyond a half-whisper in my time of bondage."

Caspian tenses, but with the entire party between us, there's no comfort I can offer.

"What's that red light there?" Jill asks. "Is something on fire?"

"If you ask me," says Puddleglum, chest nearly full-puffed with the satisfaction of getting back to his usual doomed pronouncements, "I should say that it's the central fires of the world breaking out to make a new volcano. We'll be caught right in the middle of it, I shouldn't wonder."

Well, that would quite decidedly end the pervasive chill. But Eustace has other observations on his mind, thank the Lion.

"Why, look at those ships," he says. "Why's it coming on so quickly? No one's rowing it."

He's right, and it's only then that it dawns on me. The Sunless Sea is rising to overtake the city. Was it the witch's magic that held it back at the shores, or is it surging back now in revenge?

"By the Lion," says Rilian, "it's already in the street. The sea is rising! A flood is upon us. Thanks be to Aslan this castle sits on high ground, but it will overtake us sooner than I'd like."

"Indeed," says Caspian, standing tall and absent the fear creeping among the younger members of our party. "We had best move on soon. We'll have want of the extra time as we find our way out."

"Too true, Majesty," says Puddleglum, adjusting his tilting hat so the shadows fall just so on his long face. "I'll tell you what it all is. That witch laid a train of magic spells so that if she were ever killed, at the same moment her whole kingdom would fall to pieces. She's the sort that wouldn't so much mind dying herself if she knew the chap (or chaps, begging your pardon) that killed her was going to be burned or buried or drowned five minutes later."

I'm disagreeing before I quite consider if I want my thoughts in the open among us all. "Not quite, Puddleglum. I think she'd hardly have considered dying; it'd go against every plan she laid. But I think you're right that she wouldn't mind destroying everything behind her to bring an end to her challengers." Is this what she'd have done to Tanssi Kuun, if it had been within her power? What kept the power from her? Is her magic only a thing of shadows spun under the ground?

Caspian is the one who puts all the pieces together. "There is some truth in all your theories, I think. It seems to me that when our swords brought that witch to her end, it brought all her magic to an end as well. Rilian, isn't that how it happened for you?"

Rilian hums thoughtfully, staring out the window as if he's already a hundred miles away. "Indeed, Father. I remember only the fog of the enchantment and the persistent nagging in my mind that I knew you, even as her magic bid me to strike down all her challengers. It was only once your swords landed the fatal blows that I found release. I believe we are now looking on the end of Underland and all her enchantments."

"Quite so, Sir," says Puddleglum, "Unless it so happens this is the end of the whole world."

"Not quite, my dear Wiggle," suggests Caspian. "But all the same, we would be well advised to depart these lands with all haste." He looks first to his son, but in the next breath Caspian looks to me. He's right, yet I have now words to tell him so.

"Indeed, Father," replies Rilian. He seems to take a certain comfort in speaking the word of relation. "I would save my horse, Coalblack, and the witch's Snowflake (a noble beast and worthy of a better master), and any other poor creature in the stables in the courtyard. Coalblack and Snowflake, at least, can carry two apiece. If we put them to it, they can outpace the flood."

That only helps four of us, but it's a start. Perhaps there's another horse. If not, I'll take it up on foot. If I didn't have the faeries waiting my return, I think it wouldn't be so bad, to float on the rising tide at the end of Underland. Without the dark magic weighing down the air, it's nearly bearable.

No, I can't think like that. I pinch my arm until the musing fades. It's only the exhaustion talking, exhaustion and grief and the realization that with the quest for Rilian fulfilled, my only purpose left is a world away.

Jill bumps my arm, bringing me back to reality. "I'll sure be glad of some sunshine again," she says. "It can't have all been a dream, could it? Narnia up there, and Experiment House beyond?"

I don't have quite enough heart to smile, but I have enough to nudge her shoulder back. "No, they were no dream. The whole of both worlds you remember from before the witch are, I'm afraid, very real indeed. We'll be back to one of them soon, I'm sure." I can only hope the reassurance sounds less hollow to Jill than it does to my own ears.

Unfortunately Jill is perceptive, even coming off being enchanted. "Well, isn't that a good thing? I say, you look awfully tired. You'd think we never won a battle or found a prince at all."

This, I can't deny. I don't have the energy for it, not when it's all I can do to keep myself upright and pressing onward. Not when escaping Underland doesn't keep me as distracted from everything else as the search for Rilian did. And now that's done.

I shrug, and even that is a half-measure. "Just tired, I suppose. It's the end of a quest, after all."

"Not quite," Jill counters, standing up a bit straighter. "We found Prince Rilian, that's true. But we've yet to return him to Narnia. So we've really only done half of it."

My reply is heavy on my lips, and as flat as the Sunless Sea. "That was your quest, Jill. Yours and Eustace's, and Puddleglum's too I suppose. I only promised Caspian to help him find his son. Mine is done."

Jill scowls rather ferociously and props her hands on her hips. "Well that's jolly well and good for you, Rose, but I'd like to get back to the sunshine and the grass and take my time exploring a bloody castle built for humans instead of Giants, and I'd thank you to help me getting there."

I recognize what she's doing, but even so…it helps. Her fierceness brings some echo of determination back to me. For now, it's enough. My curiosity even awakens.

"What happened once you met Rilian?" I ask as we trail our party out of the dining room, through the room we were first brought to, and down the stairs, where no guards wait. The only thing I know is that the three of them disappeared down a hallway to meet the witch's guest, and when they bolted back inside, their eyes were clear and Rilian was with them.

"Oh, right," says Jill. "I suppose that's a bit of a scratcher, from your perspective. Well, Scrubb and I were nearly fully enchanted by then. I don't think Puddleglum was, or at least not nearly so badly. Anyhow, in the dining room at the end of the hall, we met a Knight dressed all in black. We hadn't a clue it was Rilian at the time. He blathered on and on about his lady and whatnot, until even with the enchantment we all grew quite tired of it. And he was saying such terrible things, about marching to Narnia (he called it Overland) with an army of Earthmen and taking over the whole of the kingdom by force, and sitting on the throne with his lady at his side. I couldn't figure out what was so wrong about it thanks to that horrid enchantment, but I knew it was all wrong, every bit of it."

So the witch's enchantment had its cracks, even down here where I've never felt her power stronger.

Jill continues, her voice gaining strength as she tells me all. "I told him that he'd never take Narnia, because Aslan wouldn't stand for it. He laughed that too-loud laugh he had, and said that by the name of my precious Aslan, nothing would stop the righteous reign of him and his lady." Jill's face breaks into a grin. "And that's when it all cracked, I suppose. It was like getting a good dunk in ice water. The signs came back to me, and I realized this was Rilian, enchanted, just like you and Caspian would whisper about at night."

I bite down on the smile threatening my lips. I should have known Jill, of all people, would be awake to listen in and snoop.

Jill shifts her weight to one foot, then the other, the shadows thicker around her than a moment before. "I tried to tell Scrubb, but just then we heard the commotion from the other room and came running. Rilian was still enchanted, mind you, so he was all about protecting his lady and such nonsense, but seeing his father stopped him cold. I daresay, it was like he got a good dunking in cold water too." Jill's tone is lighter again, but she still has the heaviness of a girl who never saw battle before today.

Memories of my first battle tickle my mind, and it's only then that I realize how brave she's been. Eustace had some experience with these ugly things, but not Jill. This is all new to her.

I lay a hand on her shoulder and find the smile that's evaded me since we reached Underland. "You've been incredibly brave, Jill. Thank you."

Jill starts, red flashing across her cheeks. "Well, I was just hoping I didn't do anything idiotic, like faint or blub or throw up."

"You didn't," I say. "You saved my life, remember?"

Her face lightens again, as if that was the reminder she needed to forget the ugliness of before. "Right. I'm glad you're alright, Rose."

"Yeah," I whisper. "I am too."


	20. Escaping Underland

**(Caspian POV)**

Their passage through the dark, empty castle is a strange one. Rilian is found at last – alive, healthy, whole. The witch is gone, never to return. Lilliandil is avenged at last. Caspian can hardly believe it all truly happened. He can't help but look to his son every other minute. He's had many months of hope along the journey to find him, yet Caspian is still half afraid he's dreamed up the whole thing. Finding Rilian is more joy than he quite knows how to handle after the darkness of the past months – nearly a year now, since he lost Lilliandil.

When they break the surface and stand in Narnia once again, Caspian swears to himself that the first thing he shall do is return to Cair Paravel, kneel at his Queen's grave, and tell her that her son is safe.

The relief and hope are bright things in Caspian's heart. And yet, there is shadow still.

When Caspian's eyes are not glued to his son leading them so valiantly out of the castle that was his prison, he finds them straying to Rose. Every time he glances back at her, his hands tremble and the shadow lingering in his mind darkens a little. He nearly lost her. After thinking her dead in Telmara, the memory of the serpent's poison overtaking her is too sharp. It's all he can do not to run back and throw his arms tight around her, to reassure himself that she is truly alive and well.

Rose is haunted still, but with Jill at her side she seems a bit more recovered. It's enough, to see the grief lightening in her a bit. Every few paces, her fingers brush the pendant hanging freely around her neck.

Caspian worries, but every time he looks to his son, Rilian's joy infects him anew and puts the spring back in his step. Rose will heal; all she needs is time. She'll have it; he'll make sure of it.

Their first encounter with an Earthmen comes in a dark hall. Caspian wastes no time in drawing his sword as Rilian does. Puddleglum nearly catches the creature, but with a bleat and a scurry, it rolls under a table and darts out the door too quickly to catch.

"You needn't draw swords like that," says Rose, her voice echoing in the dim hallway. "You only frightened it."

"Be that as it may," counters Puddleglum, "I think we'd do well to be cautious. Those Earthmen were gathering ranks down below, sure as anything. They're waiting to take us down, I shouldn't wonder. Adventures are full of dangers and enemies, if you'll recall."

Rose's voice is cold. "Quite so, but as I've said, I think their foe was the same as ours. They seem far more afraid of us than willing to fight us. If they're amassing below, it seems to be more of desperation to keep their newfound freedom." Rose strides to the middle of their party, her hand heavy on the hilt of her sword. "I know well the look of an enemy."

Caspian has never known Rose to be so trusting. It's a strange thing, to hear her speak as if she knows these creatures. But then, perhaps her heart can see there is no malice in theirs. Perhaps she's right. But isn't it safer to be cautious? Caspian has come far too close to losing his son to risk anything now.

Yet, her words trouble him. They could be among fellow deliverees.

"You are right to be cautious, honest Puddleglum," Caspian cuts in. "But I think we might do well to appear less like a party ready to do battle against them."

Rilian frowns, but he doesn't disagree. "With a good will, Father," he says. "We shan't antagonize them. Though if they seek harm upon us, I'll have no qualms about defending our escape."

Rose softens, even though the hard edge to her tone remains. "That is all I ask."

It's no small relief to trek onward. It pains Caspian to think of how Rilian learned this castle; after months in captivity, he knows its twists and turns and staircases well. But Rilian's step is light and his face bright, and so if his son is happy, Caspian can let go of the guilt a trifle easier.

At length, Rilian pushes open a huge door they must have come through, although the memories of their arrival here are hazy, and just like that the whispers and murmurs they heard from beside the window are almost deafening. The red glow still seems a good ways off, but there's no mistaking the rumbling of the earth or the steady creep of the rising flood slowly lapping through the city.

A great pop and boom startles them all. A rocket whistles into the air and bursts into green stars.

"Fireworks!" calls Jill. "But what ever for?"

Eustace is quick to spout something Caspian would have sooner expected from Puddleglum. "Right you are, Pole. But I can't imagine those Earth people letting them off for fun. It must be a signal."

"And means no good to us, I'll be bound," says Puddleglum.

When Caspian looks to Rose, he finds her mouth pinched into another frown. "You don't know that for sure."

They don't, though Caspian is of the mind that caution is their friend. But he can't find the words to contradict her.

Rilian leads them down a path to the right, and then they're in the stables surrounded by the warm earthiness of beasts and straw. After the gloom of Underland, it smells like home. Jill, who was so afraid of a dark crack in the earth in the caves before the sea, strides in among the stomping beasts as if she hasn't a care in the world, looking the most at home since she set foot in Narnia. Caspian too finds comfort in the thick smell of the place, but Jill looks positively incandescent.

They find three horses in the stable – Coalblack and Snowflake as Rilian spoke, and an unassuming bay. For the witch's less ostentatious journeys, perhaps? In any case, it's a relief to see enough steeds to carry them all.

Rilian soothes the poor beasts, startled as they are by the fireworks and general hubbub of a land meeting its end. Caspian takes to tacking the bay, Rilian to Coalblack, and Jill takes care of Snowflake. It's as though the girl has grown up vising stables her whole young life. Caspian is glad she's found something familiar in the midst of what must have been a more challenging journey than she ever could have expected.

In short order, the horses are ready with bridles and saddles. Rilian takes Coalblack and helps Eustace climb on behind him. Jill has quite clearly claimed Snowflake. Not a soul would separate the two now; the mare leans into Jill's hand on her muzzle and whickers softly. Rose is the one who ends up on the white horse with Jill, though she hesitates at first. But it seems that the journey has softened Rose to few pleases from Jill. Caspian holds back a fond smile and helps Puddleglum up behind him.

"Thank you kindly, Sire," says Puddleglum. "Though this beast will give out in a quarter hour from our weight. Supposing those Earthmen don't cut us down in battle first, that is."

"Have a heart and good cheer, good Marshwiggle," calls Rilian, his seat steady even amid Coalblack's prancing. "I believe we have already survived the worst of the dangers."

Hopefully his son is right, but that sea does creep onward quicker than Caspian would like. They ride out into the city with a clatter. The red glow looms in the distance, but none among them can see if it be a fire or a crack like a volcano. Rilian leads them a little to the left of the glow, yet towards it still. His thought is to get around whatever it is and try to find their way to the new diggings from there. It's good plan, if only the Earthmen turn out to be harmless as Rose has said. If they do not…the way will lead right to battle.

The party is generally grim and silent. But Rilian, Lion bless him, whistles and hums ditties as they ride, no doubt in the highest of spirits at the taste of freedom. Caspian can't help but share in his son's joy. This has been, after all, his greatest hope for some time. Getting out of Underland seems a thing of only mild concern with Rilian's good cheer. When Rilian hums an old lullaby Lilliandil would sing to him as a child, Caspian joins in. The tune sets his heart aching in the way only shared grief and joyful memory can do.

It's a relief greater than he can express to his son alive and happy before his very eyes. Never mind the dangers around them. This…this is enough to fill the empty places of his heart full to bursting.

The wooden crunching of crashing ships and the rumble of stone buildings toppling down only seems to provide percussion to Rilian's singing. The fireworks seem to celebrate above as they crackle and explode into bursts of colorful sparks. Even the shrieks, squeals, and bellows lose the sinister tone they seemed to possess when they first rode out, for as they ride Caspian's ears catch notes of laughter and trilling whistles. These Earthmen sound more like creatures celebrating; perhaps Rose was right indeed. Perhaps they only dart in amid the shadows in fear of strangers they don't know.

Caspian's heart lightens with the fire of hope, a flame well-fed in hours past. What began as a desperate ember in a field beside a fountain has become a blaze. Should they escape Underland, as they surely will, Caspian is quite sure his hope will grow to an inferno. Narnia is finally coming out of the darkness.

A thorn pierces Caspian's optimism. If only he could share in this joy with Lilliandil.

They ride up many steep streets until the flood lies a good distance behind them. The red glow ahead grows quite close, though Caspian still can't make out what precisely it is. The glow has brightened as they approach, affording them a much clearer view of the Earthmen. Hundreds of them there are now, perhaps thousands, and all moving toward the glow. But they move in bunches of no more than a dozen, stopping frequently to look back at their mounted party.

Puddleglum's gloomy prediction sounds from behind Caspian. "If you asked me," says the Marshwiggle, "I'd say those fellows have a mind to cut us off in front."

Rilian speaks before Caspian thinks to look to Rose for her opinion. But then, his son has known these creatures longer than any of them. "That was my thought too, Puddleglum," says Rilian. "And we can never fight so many. But hark, there! The shadows are thick around yonder house as we approach. Puddleglum, how's about if you slip off as the rest of us ride on – they'll follow us sure as not, and thereby pass into your long-armed reach – and see if you can't take one alive. We may get a true tale or learn their quarrel with us."

"Gently, Puddleglum," says Rose. Her eyes are fierce with the red glow shining into them. "Remember they may have no quarrel at all."

"Won't the others come rushing in to rescue the one we catch?" asks Jill. Her chin is set high, but her words are not so steely on the voice that bears them.

"Perhaps," Rose answers. "Gently, Puddleglum, please."

"I'll make no promises," says the Marshwiggle, "but I'll be as careful as can be without getting skewered. No doubt they're vicious creatures, once they get a mind to be." By now they've reached the shadow by the house, and Puddleglum slips off from behind Caspian as silently as a cat.

Even for Caspian, it's a long minute of walking on before a blood-curdling scream breaks from behind them, mixed with the familiar voice of Puddleglum, saying, "Now then! Don't cry out before you're hurt, or you _will_ be hurt, see?"

"Puddleglum." Rose, who brought up the rear of their party, turns her mount at once, her warning heavy as she looks in the shadows for the scuffle. The squeals quiet abruptly, though they continue for one or two more muffled cries before falling silent.

"Begging your pardon, but there's little of gentleness to be had here, madam," grunts Puddleglum.

Rilian swings Coalblack round and dismounts once Eustace has a good hold on the reins. "That was good hunting," he says, the joviality of freedom still light in his step. It seems to Caspian that his son sees this as little more than a game.

Puddleglum drags his catch out into the light, and by the grace of Aslan its fellows do not swarm the whole of their party. It's quite a miserable thing to behold – all pulpy pink skin and face so round it could be some distance cousin of a pig and Caspian wouldn't be surprised in the least. The poor creature looks a bit ridiculous with Puddleglum's long fingers over its mouth that Caspian nearly chuckles aloud.

"Now, Earthman," says Rilian, drawing his sword and pointing the tip quite close to the creature's neck, "speak up, like an honest gnome, and you shall go free. Play the knave with us, and you are but a dead Earthman."

"Rilian." Rose steps right up to his blade and pushes it away with her hand. "I think we have no need to threaten him." She turns to the gnome, and though she does not smile, her face is gentle. "We've only a few questions. If you would answer them, you'll be back with your fellows in no time."

Rilian seems unphased by her intrusion. Caspian thanks Lilliandil in his heart for teaching his son the proper manners. "Quite right, gnome. How now, good Puddleglum! How is it to speak while you hold its mouth so tightly shut?"

Puddleglum, it seems, has found a test for his patience. "No," he says, "and it can't bite either. If I had the silly soft hands you humans have (begging your pardon, Highnesses) I'd be blood all over by now. Yet even a Marshwiggle gets tired of being chewed."

"We mean you no harm," says Rose, before Rilian can get in a word. "Don't bite our friend, just tell us what you know." At her nod, Puddleglum sours as if he bit into a fresh lemon, but takes his hand away.

"Oo-ee-ee," squeals the Earthman at once. "let me go, let me go. It isn't me; I didn't do it!"

"Didn't do what?" asks Puddleglum.

"Whatever your Honors say I _did_ do," whimpers the gnome, pink flesh reddening by the moment.

"Tell me your name," orders Puddleglum, keeping his hand well poised just behind the Earthman's head, no doubt in case it begins its biting struggle anew, "and what you Earthmen are all about presently."

"Oh please, your Honors, please kind gentlemen," please the creature, "only promise you will not tell the Queen's grace a single thing I say."

Rilian's visage hardens sternly. "The Queen's grace is dead," he says. "My companions felled her not an hour ago."

"What?" cries the gnome, its mouth gaping into a wider oval by the moment. "Dead? The Witch, dead, truly? And by your company's hand?" It gives a huge sigh of relief and breaks out into a toothy smile. "Why then, your Honors are friends!"

So Rose was right after all. She doesn't meet Caspian's glance, but then they are all rather focused on the gnome, newly freed from Puddleglum's grasp. Its red eyes twinkling, the creature sits tall, chuckles once or twice, and begins the tale just as soon as they've all dismounted and gathered round for the hearing of it.

"My name is Golg," it says, "and I'll tell your Honors all I know." The gnome settles onto its haunches more firmly. "About an hour ago we were all going about our work – _her_ work, I should say – all sad and silent, same as we've done any other day for years and years. Then there came a great crash and a popping bang, like when your ears adjust to a new depth, if you like. And as soon as we all heard it, everyone says to themselves, why, I haven't had a song or dance or let off a squib for a long time; why's that? And everyone woke up from our long foggy form of living these long years, and thinks, why, I must have been enchanted. And then everyone thinks to themselves, I'm blessed if I know why I'm carrying this load, and I'm not going to carry it any farther, and that's that. So down we throw all our sacks and bundles and tools. Then everyone sees that great red glow over yonder. And everyone thinks to themselves, what's that? And it came into our minds that there's a crack or chasm split open and a nice warm glow wafting up through it from the Really Deep Land, a thousand fathom under us."

Eustace whistles long and low. "Great Scott," he says, "are there other lands still farther down?"

Golg beams and grins wider still. "Oh yes, your Honor," says the gnome. "Lower places, wonderful places – what we call the Land of Bism. This country where we are now, the Witch's country, is what _we_ call the Shallow Lands. It's frightfully near the surface, far too near to suit us. Ugh! You'd almost as well be living outside, on the surface itself." Golg gives a deep shudder. "Most dreadful. You see, we're all poor gnomes from Bism whom the Witch called up here by magic to work for her. But we'd forgotten all about it till that crash came and the spell broke. We didn't know who we were or where we belonged. We couldn't do anything, or think anything, except what she put into our heads. And it was a great many glum and gloomy things she put there all those years. I'd nearly forgotten how to tell a joke or dance a jig."

Caspian finds he cannot look away from his son just then. To even think of what dismal things the witch put into Rilian's head nearly boils his blood.

Golg continues on, oblivious. "But the moment that chasm opened and the sea began rising, it all came back. And of course we all set off as quick as we could to get down the crack and home to our own place. Why see over there, they're letting off rockets and standing on their heads for joy. I'd be ever so much obliged to your Honors if you'll soon let me go and join in."

Golg the gnome has a honest face, and Caspian hears only truth. There is none of the witch's fog or deceit hanging around this creature. And yet the gnomes seemed to take to battle formations as much as celebrations. Caspian holds his tongue and remembers the sword at his hip. There are still things to be explained.

"I think this is simply splendid," says Jill, all alight with how brilliantly things seemed to have worked out and apparently oblivious to the gnomes in neatly organized packs scurrying past in the shadows. "How lovely, that we freed the gnomes as well as ourselves by this whole thing! And I'm ever so glad you aren't really horrid and gloomy, any more than the Prince really was – well, what he seemed like."

Rose says nothing, but her face is more relaxed than before as she looks to Jill. In all this quest, it hasn't escaped Caspian's notice that the two of them have grown closer of late. Rose might have snapped at Jill's naivety when the quest first began, but now it seems to bring her comfort.

"That's all very well," says Puddleglum, though his tone suggests quite the opposite. "But those gnomes didn't look to me like chaps who were just running away. It looked more like military formations, if you ask me. Can you look me in the face, Mr. Golg, and tell me you weren't preparing for battle?"

Golg, however, looses not a single glimmer of merriment in his blazing red eyes. "Why of course we were, your Honor," says the gnome. "You see, we didn't know the Witch was dead, not until your Honors told me as much. We thought sure as anything she'd be watching from the castle and readying a battle party or some further enchantment to bind us in her service once more. We were trying to slip away without being seen." Golg folds hoof-like hands over his stomach, scratching at the skin protruding from his tattered tunic. "And then when the six of you came out with swords at your hips (I thank you kindly for not bearing them too proudly, mind you) and astride horses from her stable, of course everyone thinks to themselves, Here it comes. We hadn't the idea that your Honors weren't on the Witch's side. And we were determined to fight like anything rather than give up the hope of going back to Bism."

This, at last, seems to be the final piece of the puzzle. Caspian's fingers fall away from the hilt of his sword as relief soothes the tightness around his eyes. "An honest gnome indeed, dear Golg. Puddleglum, do let him free at once."

"Quite so," echoes Rilian. "It's as true a tale as I've heard, and I'll not blame a single one of you good folk for your caution. Why, I myself spent many an hour bound to a silver chair and screaming to be allowed my sword. I think I could have carved my way through the deepest cavern and stone if only to get back to my own beloved homeland."

Golg shakes himself off in short order. "Why, does your Honor mean to say you were under an enchantment of the Witch's too?"

Rilian bears no shadow as he answers, "Indeed, honest Golg. I too have only newly remembered myself. But here now, one question more, if you will. Do you know the way to those new diggings by which the sorceress meant to lead out an army against Overland?"

Golg visibly contorts, squealing anew as though Puddleglum had wrung him inside out. "Ee-ii-ee!" he squeaks. "Yes, I know that terrible road. I'll show you its beginning, but I'll die rather than go on it a single step, even with your Honors."

"Why?" asks Eustace, visibly nervous. "What's so dreadful about it?"

Caspian hardly dares to imagine. Some new enchantment, perhaps? Or a trap, magicked to collapse on any intruders?

"Too near the top," shudders Golg. "Too near the outside. That was the very worst thing the Witch did to us, you see. We were going to be led out into the open, on the very surface of the world. They say there's no roof at all up there, only a horrible, great emptiness called a sky. The diggings were a good few strokes from breaking the earth, but oh, oo-ee, I won't dare go near them!"

"And how many strokes is a few?" Caspian hopes a few is truly a few, that perhaps the end of their journey lies only a few axe-strokes past the end of the path, but if these are the Shallow Lands, there's no telling just how many a few strokes really are to a creature of the deepest lands.

But nothing of the sort seems to occur to Jill or Eustace, who let out a cheer at the news. "Hurrah! Now that's a spot of proper good news," says the boy.

Jill turns the horrified gnome with a girlish, happy grin. "It's not so bad up there, truly Mr. Golg. We quite like it!"

Golg shudders anew. "I always thought you Overlanders only lived up there because you couldn't find your way down here. You can't really like it, oh! Crawling about like flies on top of the world?"

"Indeed we do," Caspian says. He forgot how much he's missed the good Narnian sun or even a proper winter breeze, but the longing is coming hot and hard now. "If you would be ever so king, Sir Golg, please show us this road you speak of. We'd like to get to our home as much as you'd like to get back to yours."

"Well, if your Honors insist," says Golg. "But I'll not set foot on that terrible road again, mind you."

"With a good will, honest Golg," answers Rilian. His son beams as bright as a star, even with the gentle lap of the creeping water ever whispering at the edge of hearing.

Their party is mounted back on their steeds and following Golg the gnome through the crumbling Underland in short order. The gnome leads the way, crying out the good news all the while that the witch is dead and the Overlanders were not dangerous. Underland looses some of its gloom as the gnomes spread the message, those who hear it shouting it to others until the whole of the land is echoing with shouts and cheers loud enough to start a slight headache behind Caspian's forehead. But even so, seeing such jubilance lightens the shadows that dance at the edges of Caspian's own joy at finding his son and seeing him free.

Rilian is soon the most popular member of their party. Every grouping of gnomes they pass clamor to hear Rilian's tale of enchantment and deliverance, and as soon as they ride on past others who couldn't hear the last telling, Rilian speaks his story all over again. His son's smile is nearly brighter than the distant glow of Bism, as Golg called the land of the gnomes. Rilian and the gnomes share a camaraderie of exultation Caspian, nor indeed anyone else in their party, can quite understand, but it's a glad thing to witness.

But every time Caspian glances to Rose, he finds the same shadows still heavy around her eyes. Her smile comes when others look – himself included – but it doesn't light her up. Even when they come to edge of the chasm, she hangs back from the group, just a little but just enough that Caspian feels the separation keenly. He thinks to reach for her, hesitates, and in the next moment is overcome with the splendor of Bism.

Heat blasts up from the chasm and fills the air around them with a vibrant, spicy scent. Caspian's nose tickles as he fights a sneeze, while the children and his son don't bother stifling the urge. It takes a little while for Caspian's eyes to adjust to the blinding brightness greeting him from the land of Bism, but it's worth the wait. There seems to be a river of fire flowing down through the center of the land the chasm reveals. The banks are covered with fields and groves of brilliant blues and greens, reds and whites, golds and silvers all jumbled together, and so bright Caspian's eyes can't quite adjust to no matter how he squints and stares. But even the fields and groves seem dim compared to the river – a ribbon of blinding fire unbearable to look directly at. That river seems tenfold brighter than even the most brilliant Narnian summer sun, brighter than even the sun's glare on Calormen. Caspian's never seen anything like it. And all down the rugged sides of the chasm crawl the gnomes, their shapes dark against the light of Bism.

"Your Honors," says Golg. "Why don't you come down to Bism? You'd be much happier there than in that cold, unprotected, naked country out on top." As if the gnome can sense the hesitation prickling at the skin of Caspian's palms, he adds, "Or at least come down for a short visit."

Caspian has not gone out adventuring to strange lands for some years now. First, there was Tanssi Kuun, a world Rose led him to. Then there were the lands east, beyond the borders of any Narnian, Telmarine, Archenland, or Calormen map he'd seen. The crew of the _Dawn Treader_ had made their own maps, charting their discoveries on their quest. And now at the mouth of Bism, Caspian finds the yearning for adventure waking up in his chest, drawing him closer to the edge so the hot air floods his nose and tickles through his airways and lungs with the piquant smell of a land unexplored by any Narnian or Telmarine yet. Indeed, it's quite possible that no Overlander has ever seen or heard of Bism before they have this day.

Caspian glances to his companions and (once his eyes adjust again to the darkness of Underland) finds his son and Eustace similarly enraptured.

Rilian speaks first, his voice deep with the longing for Bism. "Truly, friend Golg, I have half a mind to come down with you. For this is a marvelous adventure, and it seems quite possible to that no mortal has ever been to Bism, nor even looked at it, and that none will ever have the chance again. I think that, as the years pass upon me, I shall hardly bear to remember that it was once in my power to adventure to the deepest heart of the earth and that I forbore it. But ho now, Golg, could a man survive there, so close to such a river of fire?"

"Oh no, your Honor. Not we. Only the salamanders live in the fire itself." says Golg. The shadows of Underland play strangely against the pig-like features of his face with the light of Bism heavy on the other side.

"What kind of beast is this salamander?" asks Rilian.

"It's hard to tell, your Honor," says Golg. "They are too white-hot to look at, but from my memories they are most like small dragons. They speak to us out of the fire with such wit! They are wonderfully clever with their tongues. Quite eloquent."

Perhaps a short visit to Bism would do them all some good. Caspian journeyed to the far end of the world; now another exploration lies ahead of him, with his son at his side. Rilian always yearned for adventure, from the time he was a boy. Caspian lost count of the times he told his son the tales of his journeys east. Rilian used to talk of sailing east himself, just to see it for his own eyes. As he grew older, Rilian started talking of the west, and asking what lay beyond Telmar, or of the south and what deserts lay beyond Calormen. Perhaps a journey to the bottom of the world is the adventure his son deserves.

"Pray tell, Sir Golg, how might we return to our own lands were we to visit Bism?" The question of how to get home is perhaps the one thing keeping Caspian from jumping off the edge of the chasm to chase the adventure.

"That I don't know, your Honor. But I'm quite sure the salamanders could tell you."

Eustace comes up beside Caspian, so close to the edge that the rock crumbles in pebbles at the tip of his boots. "I say, Caspian, if Reepicheep were here he'd say we could not now refuse the exploration of Bism without a great impeachment to our honor."

Caspian returns the boy's smile, the spices of Bism hot in his lungs. "Indeed. I believe Reepicheep might have jumped to Bism already in the time we have lingered here debating it."

"I think Reepicheep may be quite correct," says Rilian. He has the look of a young man entranced, leaning as he is over the chasm.

Golg joins them at the very edge. "Down there, I could show you real gold, real silver, real diamonds."

"Oh bosh!" Jill scoffs. "As if we didn't know that we're below the deepest mines even here." She has not, it seems, been so taken with the idea of Bism as Caspian, Rilian, and Eustace have.

"Yes," sighs Golg. "I have heard of those little scratches in the crust you Topdwellers call mines. But that's where you get dead gold, dead silver, dead gems. Horrid, cold things!" Golg extends one of his short, stubby arms out so his hand catches the full blast of heat. "Down in Bism we have them alive and growing. There I'll pick you bunches of rubies you can eat and squeeze you a cupful of diamond juice. You won't care much about fingering the cold, dead treasures of your shallow mines after you have tasted the live ones in Bism."

When Caspian looks to his son, Rilian seems alight with Bism's fire itself in his cheeks. "Father," says Rilian, "you went to the end of the world. It would be a marvelous thing if your son went to the bottom of it."

Something in Rilian's voice catches and breaks the trance of possibilities. Caspian wants nothing more than to pull his son into his embrace and reassure him, though he can't quite pick out why right away. But then, when Rilian looks back to Bism the echo of sadness leaves his son's face once more, leaving only a young prince yearning for adventure.

"That's all well and good, but I don't be joining you."

Caspian spins on his heel to face Rose, but his eyes can't find her in the dark for longer than comfort will allow. When at last his vision adjusts a bit, he finds her grief thick around her like a cloak, pulling her back from the invitation of Bism and away from the call of adventure. Caspian understands then that her adventuring days seem to be behind her. She longs for home enough to split from their company if need be.

"Neither will I," Jill adds quickly. "I won't go down that hole whatever anyone says."

Puddleglum doesn't echo the sentiment, but even in the darkness Caspian can see that the Marshwiggle also longs for Narnia and home far more than a journey to the bottom of the world.

"Well, if your Honors are really set to go back to Overworld," says Golg," there's one bit of the road that's rather lower than this. And if that flood's still rising – "

"Oh do, do come on!" cries Jill, clinging to Rose's arm like a lifeline thrown to a drowning sailor at sea.

Caspian turns to his son and clasps his shoulders. "Rilian, if it be your wish to journey to Bism, I will not argue against it. I must return to Narnia and the throne, but I would not begrudge you an adventure." Caspian's heart thunders in his throat, but he swallows against the fear of parting from his son so soon after finding him. "If your heart reaches for this adventure, I only ask that you find your way home after you have satisfied that yearning."

Rilian meets his gaze steadily. When his son's hands rise to clasp his own, Caspian senses the surety in him before he even speaks. "Father," says Rilian. "Half of my heart yearns for Bism, tis true. But I would not be parted from you so soon. I think you must be right; there is work to be done in Narnia, and I would help you do it."

Puddleglum speaks up at last. "Where is the road?"

"There are lamps all the way," answers Golg. "Your Honors can see the beginning of the road there on the far side of the chasm."

"How long will the lamps burn for?" asks Puddleglum. The Marshwiggle has not ventured nearly so close to the mouth of Bism as Caspian, Rilian, and Eustace.

Before Golg can answer, hissing scratchy voice like the voice of fire itself comes whistling up out of the depts of Bism, buffeted on the hot air rushing up faster than before. "Quick, quick, quick! To the cliffs!" it says. "The rift closes, it closes. Quick! Quick!" And in the same moment, the rocks beneath Caspian's boots crack and jolt.

Caspian teeters on the edge for a moment before Rose's hand closes around his wrist and pulls him back. In turn, he tugs his son back from the edge, though Rilian didn't seem so much on the precipice. Eustace steps back on his own, eyes still fixed on the promise of an unheard-of adventure. All around them, the gnomes race into the chasm and fling themselves in. With the chasm narrowing by the moment, they don't wait to climb, but it seems the hot air from below supports them enough to soften the journey. Before long, the blackness of their shapes floating down like autumn leaves nearly blots out the view of Bism.

"Goodbye your Honors. I'm off!" shouts Golg, and dives in after his people. Only a few are now left to follow, and then none at all.

Caspian grips Rose's fingers in his own as he stumbles back from the chasm, now little wider than a narrow stream, and moments later no wider than a searing thread. Distantly, Caspian hopes Rose, Jill, and Puddleglum have a good grip on the reins. The shock of the thread closing into darkness shakes the earth beneath him harder than an ocean in the midst of a hundred hurricanes, hard enough to knock Caspian to the ground flat on his back with a nerve-wracking glimpse at the bay's hooves just behind his head.

He finds Rose's hand again and heaves himself to his feet, wincing at the new aches in his back. His muscles don't take so kindly to being beaten about as much as they used to. Caspian has a bit of a stiff time getting back in the saddle, though Puddleglum is kind enough not to say a word about it.

By the time the six of them are mounted up again, Caspian notices the hot, spicy smell is gone and Underland feels a good deal darker and emptier than it did before. Only the dim lamps remain to light their way, and even those are a bit of a ways off. And the soft ripples of the encroaching sea is there to remind them of their limited window for escape.

"Well," says Puddleglum, "it's ten to one we've already stayed too long, but we may as well make a try for it. Those lamps will give out in five minutes, I shouldn't wonder."

"With a good cheer, honest Marshwiggle," booms Rilian. "We may yet see Narnia's skies again."

Caspian brings up the rear of the party as they all take off at a canter and thunder toward the lamps. The road ahead turns downhill almost at once, but up ahead Caspian sees Golg spoke true – the lamps go on upward as far as the eye can see across the valley. But at the bottom of the valley, the water has nearly drowned the lamps there.

"Haste!" cries Rilian.

It's a terrible few minutes getting to the valley and guiding the horses through. Though Caspian can ride a swimming horse well enough, the current here seems stronger than the one he rode through so many years ago escaping the Telmarine castle. But the horses splash through the two feet of water sure-footedly enough. Caspian breathes easier once they reach the far side in safety, though the back of his ribs protests at inhales too deep.

The journey ahead seems dim, but Caspian keeps his hope close and warm by his heart as they soldier on into the darkness.


	21. Travels in the Dark

**(Rose POV)**

It seems all we've done is travel through darkness. Ever since we crawled under those steps, it's been different shades of the same dreary thing. The hike through the twisting tunnels, the fall down the hill, the procession through the caves with the Earthmen, the sail across the Sunless Sea, and now this. I thought I loved the darkness because Tanssi Kuun taught me too, but that was never darkness. My world has stars and a moon half as bright as a sun. Here, we have only wavery lamps that snuff out behind us almost as quickly as we pass them.

If I crane my neck for a look back, I can make out a few islands left of the hills of Underland. It doesn't take long for the lamps lingering on them to be put out by the rising tide. It's a bitter reminder of the end chasing our heels. It'd be a cruel joke for us to survive this far having found Rilian and slayed the witch only to die on our way out.

I don't trust hope much now, but perhaps the world is not quite that cruel. Whatever piece is left of my heart whispers that it isn't. That if I can just hold out some belief still, or some determination at least, we'll be out of here soon. And I'll be free to go back to Tanssi Kuun.

I shouldn't think of that now. But Lion help me, I'm determined not to leave my world for a good long while after I return. I'll give my regrets to Sima and never have to lay eyes on Narnia again.

Darin's not in Narnia. Sima and Nina will be fine on their own. Perhaps Nina will even take an apprentice. She's old enough, certainly.

"I wonder if what's his name – Father Time – is flooded out now," says Jill with no preamble. "And all those strange sleeping animals."

"I don't think we're as high as all that," says Eustace. "We had to go downhill a long ways to reach the Sunless Sea, don't you remember? I shouldn't think the water's reached old Father Time yet."

I have no attachment to Father Time or any of those odd creatures we passed on our journey, but something twists in my gut all the same. Perhaps it would be a shame to lose such things. I wonder if they'll still wake at the end of the world from beneath an underground sea.

"That's as may be," says Puddleglum, the voice of reason at last. "I'm more interested in the lamps up ahead. Looking a bit sickly, aren't they?"

Jill shrugs, her shoulders bumping me. "They always did, I'd say."

Puddleglum is quick to answer. "Ah, but they're greener now."

My limbs tense. Though I severed the witch's head from her body with my own sword, the lamps in her mansion did the same thing when we came near. Is this some new trick of hers? Is she as gone as she seems? Surely she must be. Who could survive such a blow? She can't survive as a headless serpent.

This can't have been for nothing.

Eustace and Puddleglum trade something about the lamps going out, but I can't focus on the conversation. Not when all I want to do is turn around and ride back to the mansion, flood be damned, and see for myself that the witch is as dead as I was so sure she was. What if she's not? What if I only failed again?

To make matters worse, we soon stop to give the horses a breather. With the poor beasts carrying two persons apiece and all uphill, they've worked up quite a sweat. Somehow, it's worse resting on the ground without the sensation of movement. Even if we were traveling away from the place I last laid eyes on the witch, at least we were moving. Now there's nothing but the lapping of the water in the dark.

Rilian's voice floats to my ears. I pay it little mind until he speaks again and Jill's elbow jolts into my side.

"I'm sorry, Rilian, what was that?" I ask. Puddleglum is right; the lamps are definitely greener than they were before.

Rilian, bless him, repeats himself a third time with nothing but good humor in his tone. "How is Darin, Rose? I've not caught up with him in many months."

It's such an innocent question. It should have a simple answer. The lie should come easily, should roll off my tongue like butter. I've been practicing it enough.

"Darin's dead." My voice comes out flat and dry, like the Warden's before the enchantment was broken. The words come too easily, the truth too bare in the darkness.

I press my lips shut again, rise, and take Snowflake's reins. I had little love for the beast at first, witch's ride that she was, but Rilian spoke true. She's a gentle steed, deserving of a better mistress. She doesn't flinch as I swing myself atop her saddle.

"We should keep moving," I say, still in that awful flat voice that aches in my throat as it comes out. "The water's still rising." I extend my hand to Jill, all too relived when she takes it and jumps up in front of me. She's the better horsewoman; it only makes sense for her to guide Snowflake.

The others are up in short order, but now Jill and I lead the party along the dimly lit road, and Coalblack seems to have fallen to the back of the line.

I shouldn't have spoken so harshly. But my grief is stronger than my manners, and it seems I've at last moved beyond the grieving stage that I can't speak of the truth. Now the truth is my weapon, keeping anyone who might intrude on it at a distance.

Jill's whisper jolts me from the strange mix of guilt and resolve. "I don't mean to pry," she murmurs, "but who is Darin?"

Perhaps the journey through Underland has changed me, or perhaps Jill really isn't so bad after all. Or perhaps my heart is softer toward this girl than I'd like to admit. Whatever the reason, I can't deny her an answer, though I keep my tone soft so it can stay between the two of us.

"He was my husband," I say, the unfeeling blanket gone from my voice. My words waver in the air like dewdrops trickling down a blade of grass. "I lost him."

"Oh," says Jill.

I press on, without quite knowing why. "Do you remember when I asked you to tell the others I had to leave for a bit, to check on something at home? I'd found the witch's trail, leading due west. I knew where she was going, even then." I swallow hard and let the words spill free, for a moment uncaring of the consequences. "I found him, in our home. I didn't know how to say it before now."

Jill doesn't say anything for a little while, but the silence between us could be worse than it is. It's a waiting silence. I shouldn't have laid so much on her.

"Well," Jill whispers, after a long pause, "that's positively dreadful."

I didn't expect such bluntness. "Quite," I answer.

Quiet falls, but far too soon words are spilling from my lips anew. "He's a star now. If I go to a special spot, I can still see him."

Jill, Lion bless her, takes this all in stride. "Well, that's something," she says. "I imagine it helps a bit, to look up and still see him. Though I haven't the foggiest how that's possible, but I'm glad." She straightens in the saddle before I manage to fathom a response. "It'll be quite the relief once we're above ground again, won't it? You'll see him then, won't you?"

The faintest whisper of a smile crosses my lips. "Yes," I whisper. "I suppose I will."

Yes, I'll leave Telmara once this is all over. I'll go to Tanssi Kuun and mourn in the way I need to. I'll mourn with the faeries we knew together, and every night I'll fall asleep staring at his star. Just the thought of him waiting in the sky for me lightens the harsh edges of my grief.

Before long, the ceiling of Underland comes clearly into our view. The lamps sometimes seem greener, sometimes the same, but there's no doubt that the road is narrowing into a tunnel. The ceiling is closer, and the walls are closing in as we trot on. Picks, shovels, and barrows line the edge of the road in greater quantity the further up we go.

Within half an hour, the roof is so low I have to hunch my back to avoid bumping my head. Behind us, Rilian, Caspian, Puddleglum, and Eustace have stopped to dismount, though the decreasing height likely hasn't reached Eustace's forehead as of yet.

"We'll continue on foot," Caspian says. "There's little use in knocking our heads against the roof."

He's right, but I don't relish the feel of Underland beneath my feet. With the tunnel growing smaller and narrower every few paces, it doesn't seem unreasonable that the tunnel will end before we have any idea how far we are from the surface. What then? Will we have to turn back, spend our last hours in total darkness once the lamps go out, waiting for the flood to overtake us all?

I shudder involuntarily, though luckily none but Snowflake are close enough to feel it. I should be far more wary of this horse than I am, but the warmth of her fur under my palm is more a comfort than anything else. With such slow going as we pick our steps over the uneven ground, Snowflake is the steadiest creature around me at the moment. She seems to know instinctively where to step.

It happens so quickly, so quietly. No warning. First, the lamp ahead winks out. Then the one behind us, and a few more further back. Jill screams a bit as impenetrable darkness falls around us, damp and thick with the promise of almost.

"Courage, friends," says Rilian. His voice seems strangely unchanged in the dark. "Aslan will yet see us through."

"Quite so," comes Puddleglum's cheery reply. "And you must always remember there's one good thing about being trapped down here: it'll save funeral expenses."

Poor Jill. She's silent as the darkness itself, but there's no mistaking the sharp spike of fear I sense from her heart.

Puddleglum does have a point. I might have laughed, but the thought of dying trapped below Narnia with no way back to Tanssi Kuun, no way back to Darin, sets a scorching knot into my chest.

There's nothing to do but press on, at least for now. It's slow business in the narrowing tunnel, but it stays just tall and wide enough for us to pass through single file. Jill must be nearly beside herself at this rate. And yet, she doesn't say a thing, doesn't even whimper when the walls brush our shoulders. She's gotten a stronger spine since we ended the witch.

I'm the first to find the end. There's no warning, no flicker of light to hint at a way out. Just heavy air and moments later, cold earth at my outstretched fingertips.

"That's it." My words jolt as Jill bumps into my back. "It's a dead end."

Jill inhales sharply and doesn't back away much at all after getting so acquainted with my back. Still, she holds her tongue, though I can only imagine the sorts of wails she'd probably like to let out right now.

"My lady, is it rock before us?" asks Rilian.

I shake my head before remembering the total darkness cloaking us. "No," I say. "Earth. It's not loose, but I think I feel fibers. Roots."

"Then we can't be too far from Narnia. Supposing we could find some of those pickaxes from back down the path, we could tunnel our way out." Rilian has all the youthful optimism anyone would expect a prince to have. Luckily, Puddleglum is the one to break the mood and not me.

"A fair plan, Sire," says the Marshwiggle. "Swinging pickaxes in the dark all together will likely cost us some limbs, but hey ho, they may prove to be excellent fertilizer for the roots up ahead."

"Oh Puddleglum!" Jill's cry is, I grant, entirely warranted. "Don't you say such things! Oh, I can't bear to think of it!" Even were Jill not standing close enough for me to feel her trembling, her voice communicates it all. She seems even more distraught than she was crawling on her belly through that stinking hot slit in the earth. It feels so long ago now.

"Quite so," echoes Eustace. "That's a much more vivid picture than I'd have liked, especially without those blasted lanterns."

Boots shuffle for a moment. When Caspian speaks, it sounds much closer than the middle of our line. "We'll lose no such limbs, Puddleglum, and I wish you'd never suggested anything of the sort. The path behind was littered with mining tools. We'll take up pick and axe, and we'll do it in shifts. There should be enough room for two of us to work at once."

At last, some sense.

"Perhaps three," I offer, "if one of the children works lower, and two adults work above."

"Supposing those two adults mind their aim, I wouldn't mind it," says Eustace, sounding a good deal braver than before.

Coalblack's snort distorts the first bit of Rilian's response, but the rest is something to the effect of how's about he and Eustace find two good picks and a shovel since they're at the rear of the line. With no objections from the rest of us, they stumble off with the occasional curse coming from Eustace when he bangs up against the wall or something milder from Rilian whenever Eustace treads on his heel.

"Perhaps we'd best back up a little ways," I suggest. "We'll need room to dig, and I don't the horses will enjoy all the noise."

By the time we get the horses back from the dead end and close enough for one person to keep hold of all 3 reins, Rilian and Eustace are back with the tools. It takes a good deal of fumbling, shuffling, and more than a few apologies, but in the end we get the tools up to the end of the tunnel and the work begins.

Rilian insists on taking the first shift, and Jill and I are all too happy to let Caspian and Eustace join him. After a few more curses, they work out what sounds to be a fine system. Rilian and Caspian are each as far to the wall as they can manage, picking away at the earth. It falls in clumps to the floor, where Eustace gathers it in his shovel and flings it back. The horses don't take too kindly to the flinging, so soon he just dumps it.

It occurs to me then that the dirt will eventually pile up and fill the tunnel, depending on how far and how long we have to dig.

"I'm going to look for a basket or a pail," I inform Jill. "Puddleglum, do try not to say anything else needlessly morose."

"I never say anything needlessly," says the Marshwiggle. "But I can go back for a pail as easily as you."

"Yes," I answer. "But I'm already up and on my way." Perhaps it comes across a bit rude, but some time alone, or at least a bit apart from the group, might not be the worst thing in the world. I've been around them too much lately. By necessity, but still.

I can't tend to my grief how I need to.

But it helps, this relative solitude beyond the horses, where the hammering of the picks is a distant echo. I can't see a thing, so my time searching for a pail is spent on my knees, crawling with my hands spread and sweeping from side to side. There are picks and shovels aplenty, but nothing larger for a bit of a ways. And then, too soon for my liking, my fingers find a wheel. I find the handles shortly after, and just like that my excuse for being away is gone. It's not a pail or a basket, but this barrow will do far more nicely. The wheel at the front even squeaks a little; in the dark, it'll help everyone know where it is. Sound is the best sense we have now.

I stick to the left tunnel wall, as far away from Jill, Puddleglum, and the horses as I can manage. The small wheelbarrow just squeezes by, and steps later the wheel hits the dirt pile from Eustace's shoveling. It takes some fumbling to switch sides so I can scoop the dirt in, but soon enough it's a good enough system.

The work helps. It must be hours before they slow, and I realize then that now the shifts aren't perfectly divided. If we're to trade people out to keep the work going, the second team will only be two.

"Rose, is that you?" Caspian's voice appears with little warning close beside me, but I have the good sense not to startle.

"Yes." The cold distance is toying at the edge of my voice again, and I can't seem to stop it.

The whisper of a touch ghosts at my elbow, but it's gone before I can quite register it. "Rilian can take the barrow."

"Right then, I'll take one of those picks. Supposing either of your Highnesses will only tell me where one is." Puddleglum doesn't waste time, apparently.

"I suppose I'm on the shovel, then." Jill heads off too. It's a bit of a stir-up as everyone tries to hand off tools and the newcomers feel their way around the progress. Just the same, Puddleglum and Jill seem to have a system of their own before too many minutes go by.

Caspian's hand takes my arm in earnest now, guiding me away from the barrow and toward the horses. I was in the middle of moving a load further down the tunnel, so it's a matter of moments before we find the slight indent in the earth where Jill and Puddleglum were huddled. Well, more likely Jill was huddled and Puddleglum was sprawled with his long frog feet nearly underfoot for the horses.

"Rose – "

"How much progress did you make? Could you tell?" I know that tone he gets, and I'll not deal with it now. Perhaps if we manage to tunnel our way out, then he can say his piece.

Caspian's sigh is a soft, fragile thing in the dark, but he doesn't leave it lie like he should. "He didn't know."

My answer is something that perhaps the witch would've found great amusement in. "No, he didn't. But I can't bring myself to care. Now will you tell me how much progress we've made yet or not?"

The ensuing silence is thick, broken only by Caspian's resigned murmur. "A few meters, perhaps. I've no sense of how close we may be."

"Then I'll go help Puddleglum."

This time, at least, Caspian has the good sense not to push me. It's a relief to find my way to the digging; the sound of Puddleglum's pick makes it easier to find. Jill's shovel helps a good deal too.

"Which side do you want, Puddleglum?"

The pickaxe pauses for a moment. "I'll take the left side. Though we'll run into each other at some point, I shouldn't wonder."

I say nothing; I only find the abandoned pick on the right tunnel wall and start swinging. Feeling the earth tumble loose with each swing helps ease the knot pressing against my chest. While I'm working, there's no need to think. There's no need to regret, or even grieve. There's only the pick in my hands, the dirt crumbling away, and the scrabble and scrape of Jill's shovel as she moves the piles of our progress to the barrow.

After a while, my arms start to protest in earnest. Working the barrow before the pick exhausted my muscles more quickly than I anticipated. I coax my arms into one more swing before I can't lift the pick another time.

Just when I find the wall and rest my tool against it, a particularly good stroke from Puddleglum brings a larger rain of dirt down than usual. I cough against the dust, and I'm not quick enough to shield my eyes from some of the earth.

"Ow! Oh, you really could've had better timing," grumbles Jill through a coughing fit of her own. She must've gotten the brunt of it; that's the disadvantage of working the shovel.

"Apologies, Pole, but look there. Are my eyes tricking me, or is that some light up there?"

The boys scrabble up, raising a bit of a hubbub from the horses from the sudden movement.

"I say," comes the tired yet brightening voice of Eustace, "it does look like a patch of light."

"By the Lion, Eustace is right!" says Rilian. "There, up at the top – "

"But it's not daylight," says Jill, her coughing now subsided, though her voice is still scratchy. "It's only a cold blue sort of light. A bit like those lanterns."

"I can't fathom why there would be a lantern beyond the end of the tunnel," chimes in Caspian. "Whatever it is, it's progress."

"Right-o, Caspian. It's a far cry better than nothing," says Eustace. He must've come closer.

Hope starts to tickle under my ribs as Puddleglum offers Jill a lift up onto his shoulders. It grows stronger as snippets of progress come from the two of them, with Puddleglum's occasional "You needn't put your finger in my eye," and "Nor your foot in my mouth either." Until, finally, he seems in a better fix, saying, "That's more like it, Pole. Now see if you can't find your balance on my shoulders. That's right, knees first. No need to kick my back. There, I'll keep hold of your feet. Steady, now."

The black outline of Jill's head and then down to her shoulders blots out most of the new patch of light. She wavers a bit, but Puddleglum's grip must be strong.

"Well?" everyone else calls. I still lean against the tunnel wall, any inquiries frozen by the frenetic beating of my heart. I needn't get my hopes up if they'll only be dashed, but I can't seem to stop the desperate swell of it. The tunnel seems to spin at my back, leaving me even more disoriented in the dark. The patch of light isn't strong enough to illuminate anything down below.

"It's a bit to small to see anything," calls Jill. "Here, I'll use my hands. Sorry, Puddleglum." And with that comes another rushing of dirt.

"Well, Pole, you've had your revenge for that first dirty shower," says Puddleglum, sounding none too pleased about it. Just the same, to his credit, he never wavers underneath Jill.

The opening grows and more of the outline of Jill takes shape. The hole is as tall as she is from the waist up now.

The frantic press of hoping for escape is too much. "Anything now?" I ask.

"I say – " Jill begins, but she breaks off with a cry. Not a pained cry, but startling enough in tense company. After a moment of spluttering, she finds her voice and starts shouting words too muffled to make out.

"What is it? What's happ – ?" I don't even have time to finish my question before everything happens at once.

Jill's shape blocks out the entirety of the patch for a moment, a scuffle seems to break out, and Puddleglum starts shouting, "Quick! Help! Grab her legs, someone's pulling her. There! Not, my arm, here! No, no, too late!"

In less than five seconds, the opening is clear and Jill is gone.


	22. The Parting of the Ways

**(Caspian POV)**

The moment after Jill's disappearance are nothing short of chaos. Caspian shouts her name with the rest, hoping she's somehow alright enough to at least call back what's happening, give some sign of how much trouble she's in. But no, the best thing now is to keep their heads in order and follow her through.

"Why the dickens couldn't you have held her feet?" hollers Eustace.

"I was, only not well enough," groans Puddleglum. "Born to be a misfit, I shouldn't wonder. Fated. Fated to be Pole's death, just as I was fated to eat Talking Stag at Harfang. Not that it isn't my own fault as well, of course."

Even Rilian can't keep up the boyish optimism that's kept his spirits up this long journey upward. "It is a great shame and sorrow that we have sent a brave lady into the hands of enemies and stayed behind in safety ourselves."

Rose pushes past him to the front of the cluster, calling for Jill without a glance at any of the others.

"Don't paint it too black, Sir," says Puddleglum. "We're not very safe ourselves except for death by starvation in this hole. And it would be just like adventures if our enemies came through that nice little hole there. I say, Rose, you've quite the set of lungs after all."

Rose's voice is hoarse after the next two calls, and by the fifth she's leaning against the front of the tunnel, arms shaking. She doesn't say anything else, nor move when Eustace speaks up next.

"I wonder if I might be small enough to get through after Jill? Here, Puddleglum, give me a boost, if you will."

"Off to your doom so soon, eh Scrubb? Alright then, but don't give them an easy time of it. Put that sword of yours to good use."

Caspian gently pulls Rose away from the wall to give Puddleglum and Eustace the space they need. She drifts back, but pulls away toward the right wall the moment Caspian loosens his grip.

Eustace breaks out into war cries and if the scrabbling is anything to go by, he's fending off whatever lies beyond.

"Quick, grab his legs!" Puddleglum shouts, the desperation echoing off the earthen walls. "Not again!"

Just like Jill, Eustace disappears into the hole before anyone can get a good grip. But this time, another shape – a small head and set of shoulders, by the looks of it – appears moments later and shouts down something about Narnia, freedom, snowballs, and moonlight. A great deal of noise is growing from the other side, but nothing can quite drown out the voice of Jill.

"We can't quite hear you. Jill, are out alright?" Caspian calls. But there's no answer, only a rising cacophony of scrabbling and general sounds of digging.

"Poor Pole," says Pudddleglum. "It's been too much for her, this last bit. Turned her head, I shouldn't wonder. She's beginning to see things."

"See things?" Rose says at last, hoarsely struggling to be heard over the noise beyond. The hole seems to be opening up, bit by bit. "What exactly did she say?"

"She's cracked, I don't doubt it. But she seemed quite excited about a snowball to the face; at least, I think that's what she was saying. She said a good piece about us being free at last and Narnia just beyond, but we'd do well not to get too invested. No telling what manner of creatures lie beyond. More Underland trickery, I shouldn't wonder."

Puddleglum rambles on about the tragic endings of adventures, but Caspian stops listening as the hole above crumbles away steadily. There are a good number of shapes black against the pale blue light now. And by the Lion, Caspian would know the voices of good honest Narnian dwarves and moles anywhere, even after so long away.

When Caspian reaches back to take the horses' reins in hand, he finds Rilian at the ready with Coalblack and the bay's reins already held.

"Narnia," says his son, so quietly that Caspian nearly misses the word entirely. "I wished for Narnia for so long, and to have it so near…"

Caspian finds his son's shoulder in the dark and squeezes it fiercely. "Welcome home, Rilian."

"Not home yet," Rilian murmurs. "But soon, soon. Father, I'm…I'm so sorry. I should have told you of the witch when first she came to me."

Something loosens in Caspian's chest, so deep he wasn't even aware of the knot before now. But the forgiveness his son seeks isn't there, and Caspian tells him why. "My son, there is nothing to forgive. I should have grieved with you. I should have… I should not have left you so alone."

"Nor I you, Father."

There is far too much left to say, but the pale light pours into the tunnel in beams now, illuminating the tear tracks down Rilian's cheeks, and no doubt on his own too. Caspian smiles at his son as his eyes adjust, but it doesn't quite reach his eyes. There is still mourning and healing to be done between the two of them.

It will come, in time. But for now, Caspian smiles wider until his son brightens in the ever growing light of the Narnian moon and stars. There's no mistaking the digging calls of the dwarves or the focused scratching of the moles. The hole that was barely big enough to fit Jill has grown to a great chasm, level enough to lead the horses through.

Puddleglum goes first, closely followed by Rose. Caspian is next, leading Snowflake, and Rilian behind him.

Caspian emerges blinking against the moonlight and the golden warmth of torches and a bonfire a little ways off. He scans the crowd for Jill and Eustace as Narnians call out to Puddleglum, saying there have been search parties about and a reward offered from Lord Trumpkin. He sees the children just as a hush falls over the clearing, standing anxiously by with steaming mugs in their hands.

Caspian steps free from the chasm, clearing the way for his son. Every Narnian drops to their knees in stunned silence. Caspian well knows the relief, at least. He turns to see his son properly, in true Narnian light.

Rilian is a lanky young man still, but he has the look of gentility about him, clear as the northern star on a night at sea. Caspian hasn't given much thought to the look of royalty in his own time, but seeing Rilian emerging back into Narnia changes his son. Rilian's first breath of Narnian air seems to sweep away any echoes of his enchantment, bringing the light of youth back to his eyes. The joy of his son in his freedom seems a pale memory in the face of the man Narnia makes him.

A cacophony of cheers, shouts, and general joyous celebrations break out like a tide on the shore. All around, fauns and dwarves and talking animals of all sorts jump to and bro embracing each other and singing of the prince's return.

The oldest of the dwarves looks between Caspian and Rilian, as if unsure who exactly to address first and trying his best to direct it at both of them. "Please it your Highnesses, but there is some attempt at a supper in the cave yonder, prepared for the ending of the snow-dance –"

"With a good will, Sir," says Rilian, never missing a beat. "For never has any Prince, King, Gentleman, or Beast had so good a stomach to their victuals as we wanderers have tonight."

As the crowd begins to move through the trees toward the cave, Caspian remembers Rose. He only catches sight of her in all the hullabaloo when Jill spots her and darts over. He thinks at first to go over and at least make sure she gets something hot to drink, but Caspian thinks the better of it. She is not so joyous as the rest, and perhaps it's best not to push her, again.

Caspian sups with his son at his side with some of the older and wiser dwarves. Rilian tells of the whole adventure, and Caspian makes sure not to interrupt. This is Rilian's story.

The dwarves end up agreeing that this Emerald Witch was likely of the same breed as the White Witch from so long ago. Caspian wonders privately where they've come from, exactly, though he has no good answer. There was some mention of Jadis entering Narnia from another world or having Giant blood in her veins, but none of the surviving texts are old enough to confirm anything. He knows this Emerald Witch was in Tanssi Kuun first, yet she bore no resemblance to the faeries.

"The lesson, your Highnesses," says the oldest dwarf, "is that those Northern Witches always try for the same thing, but in every age they have a different plan for getting it."

"I suppose so," says Caspian. "But Aslan willing, this witch has been the last."

Caspian doesn't say so aloud, but he's quite certain that Narnia is not the only world with a witch problem or two. Where are they truly from, these witches? How do they travel worlds like it's nothing?

If circumstances were better, he could ask Rose. Maybe someday, when the past loses some of its pain. Maybe then she'll be more willing to speak with him about things as they used to.

When the snow dance resumes, Caspian sends Rilian off into the flurry with as light a heart as he can muster, but he doesn't join him. It's good fun, watching his son fall into step with his fellow Narnians and occasionally getting a snowball to the face when he misjudges a step ever so slightly. It's the sort of fun Rose used to like, too.

She surprises him. He's leaning against a tree watching the dancing fun when she appears out of the shadows with a little cloth pack in her hand.

"It's time I went home," Rose says. Simple words, but Caspian's breath catches in his chest just the same. He knew this moment would come, knew she would go her own way after the quest as far back as the Sunless Sea. It's another thing entirely to hear it aloud.

Caspian tries to summon a friendly goodbye, but everything he thinks up seems hollow, insufficient. So he lifts his arms slowly, staring at Rose past the water filling up his eyes. He's not quite expecting her to take the gesture, but the moment he thinks to lower his arms he finds her in them.

"Be safe," Caspian whispers into her hair. She's still covered in dust from their digging. "If you ever…"

"I know." The sounds of the winter dance fade away. Rose's breath is warm against his collarbone. "I'm glad he's safe."

Caspian clutches her until his arms shake with the effort. Surely she must feel how his heart pounds a little more urgently as the reality of her departure settles between them. Surely she knows how much he'll miss her, how much he missed her when time and distance kept them across the country from each other. Surely she knows how sorry he is that he has a piece of his family back and she does not.

She knows.

Caspian feels the flicker, like a tickle deep under his skin, buried somewhere in his heart. It's only for a moment, but there's no mistaking it. The coolness of her resignation, the tentative warmth of forgiveness slowly growing, the sharp pain of happiness edged by loss.

When Rose loosens her arms from his waist, Caspian lets his own fall away. His heart burns, but he lets her go and says nothing more. There's nothing that needs to be said, not now.

There will be another time.

Rose walks off into the forest and doesn't look back. Caspian watches her go with more peace than he thought he could have. He thought letting her go would feel like losing her, but now he knows it won't be forever. She'll heal, and so will he, and so will Rilian.

But for now, this is enough.

When her form disappears into the night, Caspian turns back to the fire and claps in time with the snowballs flying to and fro. Some of the fauns try to teach Jill and Eustace the steps, and on a whim Caspian joins them.

He dances, and he laughs, and it's enough.


	23. Coming Home

**(Rose POV)**

I breathe easier once I'm alone in the snow-dusted trees. The cold is alive in a way the chill of Underland never was, and now it keeps me going. It's been far too long since I've been home.

I said all the goodbyes I could manage, especially since the odds are slim I'll ever see the children or Puddleglum again. Jill actually cried a bit and flung her arms around me in a hug that could've chased away the bitterest winter chill. I didn't expect so much affection, but it bothered me less than I thought it might. Meaning, not at all. I found my voice enough to wish her well at that ridiculous school of hers – Experiment House, I believe.

Eustace was a bit more awkward, and understandably so. He and I never quite clicked like I did with Jill. Even so, his well wishes mirrored mine.

Puddleglum was, of course, ever the pessimist, assuring me that my adventure home would surely be fraught with danger. It was strangely good to hear some of Puddleglum's mutterings one last time. I even smiled as he mused that I'd be "eaten by a wandering Giant miles south of the border, I shouldn't wonder." I didn't quite laugh, but the tip of his hat was as warm a goodbye as I'd ever have asked for.

And now, at last, I'm alone. It doesn't quite feel real, to finally be walking into the isolation I craved. I half expect a wave of emotion to overtake me halfway through the night, but it never comes. I trod along strangely numb in my toes and my heart.

* * *

After a few days, I'm back in Telmara, a city I never wanted to set foot in again. But there are some loose ends to be tied up.

Arriving just before dawn has its perks; I find Sima and Nina at the start of their day, when the looms aren't in full swing as of yet.

"Rose!" Nina leaps up as soon as I set foot at the back door and engulfs me in a choking hug.

"Welcome back, child," says Sima. The usual teasing isn't there in her gravely voice. She looks at me like she can see my grief written across my features as plain as day, never mind how I'm trying not to seem too morose. She's not looking at me like I'm a child anymore. When did that change?

I try to get the words out, but they stick in my throat. I manage an unsteady smile as I return Nina's embrace and try to at least seem happy to see her. All the while, Sima watches me with those too-wise eyes of hers.

"Sima, I…"

"The smith has been cold for many weeks," Sima says.

The knot in my throat tightens. "Yes," I answer. "It has."

Nina's arms fall away. Her gaze darts between Sima and me. Sima must not have told her, or explained what it meant. Poor child only knows that I went off on some journey, and now she's about to hear that I'm leaving again. Do I tell her I don't mean to come back?

"I need to go back home." I push the words past my lips with my tongue dry in my mouth. "To my family."

Sima just nods while Nina looks bewildered.

"But you've only just gotten back," says the young woman, frown lines sharp in her forehead.

I try again for an honest smile. "You know everything you need to, Nina," I say. "You'll have little trouble taking my place. Your work on the loom is nearly perfect."

Nina's lip trembles just a bit. "Exactly. Nearly."

"You'll be alright." This time, I draw her in and keep my arms tight around her until I feel her breathing even out again.

When I turn back to Sima, she's still sitting on her stool, scrutinizing me with those owl eyes. "You travel safe, Rose. I expect you to visit when you're next in town." But I've known Sima long enough to hear when she doesn't believe what she says. And she doesn't believe I'll be back in town again.

I cross the small room and kneel in front of her, and it's then that my eyes decide to come dangerously close to overflowing. "Thank you, Sima," I whisper hoarsely. "For everything."

Sima's wrinkled palm is cool and steady on my cheek. "We made a useful woolmaker out of you after all."

I've never actually hugged Sima in all our years of work. She's swatted me before, and in her old age I've helped her walk many a step. Never a true hug. But today, at this bittersweet goodbye between us, I fall forward and throw my arms around her, tears leaking down my cheeks onto her shoulder. She soothes me, but before long it's back to the old ways between us; she shoos me out the door with a twinkle in her eye and gruff affection in her eyes. It's good, to have these familiar things.

* * *

I find the home I shared with Darin much as I left it. His cloak still hangs by the door, the table is still set with a single set of dishes – though now they have a fine layer of dust. And to the left lies the bedroom door, as open as I left it.

The knot in my throat slides down to my chest, constricting my breathing as I gingerly step inside.

At once, I frown. It's different in here, messier than I left it. I certainly didn't break the nightstand against the wall.

The answer comes in flashes. Caspian running to me across the plains, clutching at me and staring like he thought I'd vanish like a ghost. Caspian worrying over my health, trying to get me to eat, to sleep, to open up in my grief. Caspian starting to say something on the Sunless Sea before I hushed him. Caspian always looking at me like he was afraid I was lost entirely. Caspian looking at me with guilt hidden under the joy when we found Rilian.

He knew, before I said a word. He must have been in here. There wouldn't be a reason for anyone else to come in and break a piece of furniture. The place hasn't been looted.

The air is still stale with the memory of the death here. I set my jaw, grab a few spare sets of clothes, and rush out, throwing the door shut behind me. I'll never set foot in that room again.

I open the pack a faun kindly sent me off with from the snow dance and shove my clothes inside. I don't bother with food, not when Tanssi Kuun has plenty of it. I like the freshness of the wild things there far more than bread and stew anyway.

On my way out, I take Darin's cloak and throw it around my shoulders. If I turn my face into the hood, it still carries a trace of his scent. My heart throbs a painful rhythm.

I leave the door unlocked and ajar – the closest I can come to a declaration that the space is vacant and open for the taking. I have everything I need. Perhaps the next tenant will find more happiness there. Peace.

* * *

It's sunset by the time I reach the tree. I pull the pendant I took back from the witch from my girdle and step into Tanssi Kuun without looking back.

None of the faeries are nearby, but it's just as well. I'm not quite ready to give up my solitude yet. I brush my fingers against the wild, sharp grass of my home. I have enough calluses on my fingertips now that they don't cut into me like they used to.

The moonset is nearly finished by the time I'm close to the clearing and the pine woods beyond. I tug Darin's cloak tighter around my shoulders and breathe in all the memories I can as I stare up at the sky. Waiting. Waiting.

There. The thorn in my heart eases to an echo. He's up there, winking back steadily in the twilight. He glows green, but nothing like that sickly green of the witch. His is deep emerald, like the green of the pine forest. Warm, soothing. Just like he was.

I sink to the ground and wind up sitting cross-legged at the edge of the clearing, staring up at Darin until my eyes cross. This is how Bashar finds me, with a crick starting in my neck. I sense her more than see her, though her swirling ribbons tickle at the edge of my sight.

Wordlessly, I hold out the pendant.

Bashar floats barely an arm's length away. A golden ribbon of hers brushes against the pendant. I cleaned it with snow on the way, so it would gleam in the moonlight as it's supposed to.

A cool blue ribbon brushes my cheek and winds behind my head. Gently, oh so gently, Bashar guides my head down until I'm looking at her instead of the sky. Her ribbon glides down to my neck, the slight chill soothing away the ache in my neck.

I let her guide me up to my feet and into the pine forest, where the faeries are supping on wild berries and pine nuts. I can't quite get the food past my lips, but my heart lightens being here with them.

Finally, I've come home.


	24. Epilogue

**(Rose POV)**

**_Five years later_ **

The years passed quicker than I thought they would. I didn't keep track of every day, but Bashar guesses it's been about five years since the quest. On my good days, it feels like barely a year. On my bad days, even one day seems to stretch into eternity. Bashar is always the one to remind me when it's a new day, whenever the grief rumbles over my heart like a rockslide. She's the closest one to me now. She knows me even better than Darin did.

In part, I think that's thanks to the peculiar skill we've picked up over the years. Much more than my heart, Bashar sees into my soul. Sometimes, when neither one of us has any distractions, I get a tickle deep in my chest, deeper than my body itself. We've guessed that's our souls brushing. In any case, it goes deeper than the heart.

In the first few years, we got in the habit of keeping vigil together at night and resting during the day. I couldn't quite let Darin out of my sight then, and I never took his cloak off except to wash it when it truly got too dirty to stand. Now, it's easier to be up with the moon and sleep soon after the stars come up. There's comfort in knowing Darin is up there, watching over me as I sleep.

But tonight, something other than missing Darin is keeping me awake. It's been slowly growing over the past few months. I've refused to speak of it to anyone, but I know Bashar senses it. The others do too, though they don't seem to know what it is. Bashar, though… Bashar knows.

"Perhaps it's time." Bashar breaks the comfortable silence that always falls between us after a good long twilight dance.

Laying on my back, it's easy to find Darin's star. He blinks back at me, steady and unchanging. Ageless, now.

"I've never intended to go back to Narnia," I finally answer. "This is my home now."

One of Bashar's silver ribbons wraps around my hand. "Your heart doesn't lie, Rose." A weighted silence falls, but Bashar isn't done. "Sometimes, it is good to see old friends."

Words I said to Caspian, so very long ago. That was the night I agreed to show this world to Lilli.

I chew on my lower lip for long minutes. "Maybe."

* * *

Three months later, I'm walking past the two centaur guards at Cair Paravel's gate. Strangely, once I gave my name they let me pass with no other questions.

Before I'm quite ready, I find myself striding into the throne room with the hood of my cloak pulled low over my face. But all the same, Caspian rushes from the throne as if he's a young man of twenty rather than a man of nearly fifty. The crow's feet around his eyes are deeper now, and his beard is sprinkled more evenly with grey.

When Caspian grasps my shoulders and looks me up and down, the new wrinkles of his hands draw my gaze. "You're getting old," I say by way of greeting. "Your hands are turning wrinkled."

"Rose," he says, voice soft as if I hadn't spoken so rudely. "It's good to see you." He hesitates a moment, but when I lift my arms, he engulfs me in a tight hug that could have cracked my back in my younger years. He shakes ever so slightly as he holds me.

"How have you been?" I mumble with my chin mushed against his shoulder. "How is Rilian?"

Caspian loosens his arms, but his hands stay at her upper arms. As he smiles, the crow's feet deepen around his eyes. "He shall be king soon. As you said, I'm getting old."

I smile in return. "He has much to live up to."

Warmth floods Caspian's eyes, still as rich a brown as in his youth. Something foreign stirs in my heart. Perhaps Bashar was right; perhaps, even after everything, it's still good to see old friends. To remember.

"Come," he says. "I'll show you to your room." Looping my arm through his, Caspian begins to walk. I follow along mutely at first, before I quite understand what he said. But when I do, I dig in my heels.

"Caspian, it's a terrible bother to prepare a room without notice." My heart thuds unsteadily. It's been years since I slept indoors. Since I slept without seeing the stars. Traveling through Narnia on foot was alright; even the sky here is better than no sky at all. It wasn't so hard to imagine Darin traveling worlds across the skies to flicker down at me. I could almost feel him, even if he wasn't there.

Caspian's warm hand encloses over mine where it rests in the crook of his elbow. "It's not so much a bother as you think," he murmurs. He only looks ahead, but there's something warm flickering in his heart. I don't have a name for it, but it's the same thing Bashar sensed in mine.

My calm lasts as long as our walk from the throne room to the east corridor. Then I remember the particular detail of roofs and tense anew.

"Caspian, the stars – "

Caspian stops in front of a plain wooden door and palms it open. Before me is a room with a freshly made bed, wildflowers on the bedside table, and a polished glass roof. And the walls are covered in murals of pine trees. He's brought Tanssi Kuun here, to the Cair. With a glass roof to show me the stars.

"I wanted to be ready, in the event of your return."

I press my lips together to try and hide how they tremble. In my determination not to face him, my hand tightens around Caspian's arm. "You couldn't have known I would," I choke out.

Carefully, Caspian laces his fingers with mine and squeezes until I can feel the faint thrum of his pulse in the veins of his hand. "I hoped."

* * *

Over the next few days, we settle into an easy pattern. I take all my meals with him and Rilian, and soon the three of us are as comfortable together as if we've been supping every day for years.

Rilian's ordeal did very little to dim the youthful glow about him. He's much like his father was in his twenties – measured, wise, too responsible for his own good. But he has a boyishness about him beyond what Caspian ever had. Even his time with the witch didn't dim the light in his smile nor the mirth always twinkling in his eyes – blue, like his mother's. He laughs often, and I find that sadness is nigh impossible in his presence. Rilian lights up any room, and Caspian is never happier or more alight with youth than in his son's presence.

But after our dinners, Rilian excuses himself to his study, giving Caspian and I much-needed time alone although we never asked him to. He simply understood.

Every night since my arrival, Caspian and I have spent hours in my room on ladders. Caspian holds the paint while I map Tanssi Kuun's stars onto the glass in brilliant color. I asked Caspian for the paint on my second evening here, and ever since we've settled into a comfortable, silent ritual.

Now, on this seventh night, the mural is complete with every star I've memorized but one.

I pause on her ladder, pushing the paintbrush handle behind my ear and resting my elbows on the ladder's tip. Beside me, Caspian fights a yawn. He always tries to hide it when he gets tired, and I always wait a few minutes before faking my own yawn and descending back to the floor. Tonight, I glance over and smile ever so slightly.

"It's all but done. Perhaps we should get some sleep." No matter that this is nearly an hour earlier than usual. I need to put up that final star alone.

Caspian meets my gaze. Though his eyes are as gentle and warm as ever, I've never felt so exposed in front of him. The beginning of a tickle starts in my chest, but it's gone almost as soon as I notice it. Silently, Caspian descends the ladder and sets the golden paint on the floor. I'm moments behind him. I can't quite come up with our usual goodnight.

But Caspian plucks the dirty brush from my ear the moment my toes touch the floor and drops it into the small pail of water on the dresser nearby. He picks up a clean brush, the same size, returns to me, and wordlessly places it in my hand. For a moment, our hands clasp together with the brush between our palms, then Caspian's hand is gone and so is he.

The warmth in my heart is a whisper and yet as loud as a thunderstorm. "Thank you," I whisper to the empty room.

After adjusting my ladder a bit, I ascend to the ceiling once more, a cup of green paint in my hand and the clean brush held between my teeth. I set the paint on top of Caspian's ladder, dip my brush, and fill in the final star.

I don't sleep until dawn, but my heart is somehow lighter. I clasp the two pendants around my neck to my heart all night, and my eyes never leave Darin's star.

* * *

When at last I awaken the sun is glaring through the ceiling, announcing midday mercilessly against my eyelids. Though my stomach complains, I don't join Caspian and Rilian for lunch. Instead, I drink in the warmth of the sun and stare at the dark emerald star, the last piece of Tanssi Kuun's sky to finish the map. I've never seen him during daylight before, much less under Narnia's sun.

I always loved the moonlight, but Darin longed for the sun. Summer sun was his favorite, though his smithing was most miserable in the muggy heat. Darin didn't care; his most treasured moments were stolen afternoons with me in the plains outside Telmara, soaking up the summer heat and snacking on fruit and bread beneath a cloudless sky.

I slip between daydreamed memories and naps until the sun sinks to the horizon, emblazoning the Narnian sky in brilliant reds and oranges and purples. Only then do I rise at last from bed, stretching under the brilliant skyscape. This is one thing Narnia has over Tanssi Kuun – sunsets. Moonsets are stunning, but Narnian sunsets are richly colored in the way only sunlit worlds can be.

When the sky above darkens to more blues and purples than rusts and reds, I change and make my way to the small dining room where Caspian and Rilian await.

I find father and son buried deep in discussion – something about Ettinsmoor by the sounds of it. Rilian glances up with a smile as I enter, but he finishes his conversation with Caspian as I close the door and take her usual seat at Caspian's left. By then, they've agreed to send a well-armed diplomatic team to the Giants and greet me with reserved hellos.

I return their greetings, but my stomach chooses that moment to announce itself far too loudly and the uncertainty in the room breaks into mirth. For all the complicated workings of my heart, I can't help but laugh with them.

"Perhaps the next time you skip a meal, I shall deliver it to you and appease your poor stomach," Rilian laughs, his shoulders shaking as his rich blue eyes dance.

I chuckle gratefully. "Perhaps you shall," I agree. There would be far worse things.

We pass a gentle evening together. But for all the lightness Rilian brings, tonight a fragility hangs in the air, something all of us seem to sense. Rilian's laugh is a few moments shorter than usual, and Caspian doesn't smile as easily. And I chuckle and smile and nod and hum when I should, but something winds tighter in my chest with every tender bite of pheasant that passes my lips. The knot tugs tighter whenever I meet Caspian's soft eyes across the table. The same restlessness that drew me out of Tanssi Kuun prickles just under my skin.

When the meal is done and we lick the last of the honey from our sticky bread dessert off our fingers, Rilian lingers.

"I believe I should draft the diplomatic points for our team," Caspian says through the napkin patting the stickiness from his lips. "I won't be long." Caspian hugs his son and squeezes my shoulder on his way out. I watch him leave, careful to school my face into vague curiosity.

When I turn back to Rilian, the blue-eyed prince is offering me his arm and smiling those six inches down at me. "A turn in the gardens, my lady? I believe the poppies have just begun to bloom."

I accept with a smile that I wish came easier than it does. Now that my painting is finished, even with this strangeness in the air I welcome the variation in routine. But as I chatter with Rilian about the state of the royal gardens and debate the merits of red versus yellow poppies, that brittle thing in the air starts to fade.

"Yellow most certainly catches the sunlight best," I insist with a grin that pulls at my chapped lips. "And the sunsets too."

"Ah, but red mirrors the sky at sunrise!" Rilian tosses back. "What better color than one to match the sky's most brilliant hours?" He smiles toothily, as if he's won the debate.

I shoulder open the doors to the garden, comforted at once by the babble of water fountains. "Perhaps both are best," I compromise. "Red at the edges and radiating into the center, and yellow everywhere in between."

Rilian taps his index finger against his chin as he follows me into the castle's corner of paradise. He suddenly beams, clasping my hand where it rests on his arm. "A brilliant plan, my lady! I shall ensure the gardeners do just that next season."

"Rilian, how many times must I remind you," I ask with a playful shoulder nudge. "It's just Rose."

Rilian chuckles and says nothing as he guides us to a simple stone bench amid a smattering of flowering ivy. I sit after he does, and something somber settles between us.

"Rose," Rilian begins, wetting his lips as he stares into the setting sun. He hesitates, his knuckles white on his right knee as he clutches at his pants.

I slip my hand from his arm to rub soothing circles into his back. "Some things don't need to be said," I offer gently. I know too well what it is to say things before you're ready; I wish Rilian did not have to know.

But Rilian shakes his head vigorously, his blond curls dancing across his broad forehead. "No, but this does." He shakes out the hand grasping his knee and clears his throat. "I never got to thank you, for questing to find me. My father was seeking his child and heir, Jill and Eustace were here by Aslan's command. You didn't have to seek me with them. But you did." Rilian's voice trembles, skittering into the air on fragile wings. "My father told me, what it cost you. I…I'm so sorry."

At once, the guilt in Rilian's young face is too much to bear. My heart trips over painful beats of grief, but I turn Rilian to face me and speak firmly past the bubble in my throat. "Finding you cost me nothing," I tell him firmly. "I did not lose my husband because I was seeking you." And as I say the words, I find that at last, after so many years, I mean them.

Rilian opens his mouth, but I stop him with a firm shake of my head. "I didn't, Rilian. He was lost to me for other reasons entirely." I soften in spite of the ferocity with which I would purge him of this sorrow for me. He had his own losses too; he should not mourn mine.

"You have nothing to feel guilty for," I murmur with wet eyes.

Rilian breathes shakily once, twice. But at last the weight behind his eyes lightens, and he swoops forward to hug me. "I thank you."

My tears spill over, but I smile as the iron cage of grief slowly weakens more around my heart.

* * *

When I return to my room, I find Caspian waiting by the door. To most anyone, he hides his nerves well; but I see his too-straight shoulders and lightly puckered brow straightaway.

"I told him he has nothing to feel guilty for," I say the moment I'm within earshot. "And he doesn't."

Caspian's shoulders visibly relax as relief slackens the tight lines in his face. "Thank you. He needed to hear as much." With quicker steps than I expect, Caspian strides forward and sweeps me into a tight hug, squishing me almost to the point of pain. Regardless, I squeeze him back just as tightly.

When he releases me, both our eyes are swimming, and the tickle against my heart turns searing. Silently, I take his hand and lead him into the finished room. I stop right beneath that final green star, the brightest of them all and dare to look at him.

"I finished, last night," I whisper. "Thank you."

Caspian's hand is warm and steady in mine, but his cheeks are wet when he tears his eyes from the painted replica of my Darin.

His fingers are warm where they curl with mine. A warm shiver rushes up my spine as her heart reaches for the peace I thought I would find in isolation. But it's here, with forgiveness and relief and the love only years of friendship can bring.

We spend the evening lying on the bed and staring at the ceiling, tracing constellations with our fingers in midair and naming the ones we know. Caspian knows the ones from Tanssi Kuun, too.

In the deep hours of the night when Caspian snores beside me, I decide on something important.

Lilli and Caspian knew Tanssi Kuun, and never betrayed that secret. Lilli seemed more like the faeries than like us human Narnians. She loved my world in a familiar way I never could quite understand.

When the sun rises, I wake Caspian with my idea.

"Do you think you and Rilian can be spared a few days? There's some place I think he'd love to explore." I hold out the spare pendant, smiling as my heart brightens into something burning and golden.

Caspian's joy bursts off of him in waves, until his heart could easily be a star all its own. "Yes," he says. "I think he'd like that."

* * *

Rilian is more than happy to set out on another adventure before his coronation. When he gets to Tanssi Kuun, he loves it just like his mother did. And after I see him dancing with the faeries under the moonlight as if he's danced with them a thousand times before, I give him the second pendant.

The faeries dance on, and I join them. I dance with Darin twinkling above me, Caspian's hand in mine, and Rilian spinning as if his heart is perfectly in tune with the faeries.

And at last, I think mine is too.

THE END


End file.
